


The Art Of Falling

by ReyloBrit



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BeeBee is the cutest dog ever, F/M, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Humphrey loves Margery Forever, I love london, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Lego porn, Rey has issues too, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn Rey/Kylo Ren, Stormtroopers love raves, Texting, Yearning, london setting, smut in the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-08-13 22:30:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20181769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReyloBrit/pseuds/ReyloBrit
Summary: Aspiring sculptor, Rey knows all she needs to about monstrous artist, Kylo. That is until she meets him. Can their feelings deepen under the shadow of the mysterious, older woman in Kylo's life?





	1. Rey

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is: my first multi-chapter fanfic. A bit of a love letter to my favourite places in London and way more angsty and slow burning than I expected.
> 
> Thanks so much to MyJediLife for betaing this!
> 
> (Disclaimer - I do not live or work in the art world - this is all an invention of my own little brain)

#  **Chapter One – Rey**

“The girl I have heard so much about.”

Rey steals a smile and turns around. She’s had three hours of this now. Smiling, shaking hands, explaining her art, talking about her inspiration. She’s flagging. 

Her friends, Finn and Rose, and a couple of acquaintances from art school (some she’d invited, some who’d spotted her name and had come out of curiosity - or the free drinks) left two hours ago and are waiting to celebrate with her at the pub. She wishes she could join them now.

She shouldn’t grumble. Being picked up and shown by the Resistance Gallery is a huge opportunity. One she needs to capitalise on.

She looks up at the owner of the deep, gravelly voice. Over an expanse of broad chest clothed in a dark shirt. Up over his long neck and a hint of dark stubble. Over an angular jaw, a pair of plump, pink lips, and a large, sharp nose to land on two dark and mocking eyes.

She starts, realising who it is. 

Kylo Ren. 

She fucking hates this guy. 

He’s infamous in the art world for his incredible talent, quick temper and brutal opinions. Opinions he has no problem sharing despite the consequences.

At art school, she’d had a classmate who’d been a huge admirer of Ren’s work. He’d tweeted him some gushing praise along with photos of his own work, inspired by Ren’s. The response had been harsh to say the least, bordering on threatening. Her friend had spent two weeks in nervous tears, and Rey had been surprised he’d made it through the rest of the term.

“Woman!” She spits, frowning at him.

His eyes widen in a silent question.

“I’m 25. I’m no girl.”

“Sure,” he snarls. He nods towards the canvas. “This isn’t one of yours.”

She shakes her head. “Mine are the sculptures.” She scans the room, looking for a way to extract herself from this conversation. The Resistance art gallery is housed in a converted railway arch down by the river. It’s all naked red brick, exposed beams and hanging spotlights. 

“Sculptures. There’s less of a market for that.” He takes a swig of the champagne from the flute that rests between the fingers of his right hand. A large hand stained, she notes, with black and red.

“But it’s what I do.” She tries not to scowl at him.

“The little orphan - collecting scrap- hoping to make a better life for herself.”

Now she does openly scowl at him.

“And the great Kylo Ren - famous for his updating of the Vader style.” He nods. She leans a little closer. “But secretly terrified he’ll never be as great as Darth Vader himself.” 

He recoils from her at first, then seems to collect himself, drawing up to his full height.

“Been googling me?”

She snorts. “You’re as transparent as they come.”

“You too.” He growls. He begins to turn from her, and she feels her shoulders relax, but then he pauses. He twists back and studies her face. Her cheeks start to flame at the intensity of his gaze.

“Have we met before?”

“No.”

“Then why the hostility?”

“Are you kidding me? We just met, and you called me a fucking girl and an orphan.”

“I was commenting on the story that your art was telling. It wasn’t an insult.”

“Yeah, you like commenting on other people’s art.” She mutters sarcastically.

He shrugs. “I’m not allowed opinions?”

“Yes.” She flusters, feeling the argument slipping away from her. “But it’s all very well when you’re famous, when you’ve made it. Shitting all over other people’s work when they’re doing their hardest to get noticed, to get recognised- that is- that is seriously crap. I’ve seen your twitter feed. You’re a monster!”

She halts, realising she’s started to rant.

“I don’t like bad art.” He states simply.

“But why do you get to decide what’s bad art?”

“I don’t.”

“But your opinion counts: it can end a career.”

“There are too many shitty artists out there. Some need to know to just stop. You want them to struggle on, under the illusion they have talent when they’re never going to make it?”

She forces herself to take a deep breath in, then flicks the chestnut locks that have fallen into her face back behind her shoulder.

Her feet are starting to hurt in these strappy heels, and the black cocktail dress Poe made her wear (‘you need to look like a grown up’) is just a tad too tight.

“You could just be gentler about it, ok? I know it’s your thing to be some giant arsehole, but you don’t have to fucking end people’s lives.”

“It’s not my thing. That’s me.”

“I’m not sure that makes it any better,” she says, turning her back on him and walking away.

“I like  _ your _ stuff, by the way.” He calls after her. 

She pauses and turns back to see if he’s really serious.

There’s a wolfish smile on his face. One she’s seen many times before. One she doesn’t like.

  
***  
  


She’s at the gallery for another 45 minutes chatting to the other artists, a few late comers and Poe. Poe is a brash American who looks like he’s stepped right off a 1950s film set, with his thick wavy hair, bright white teeth and smoldering eyes. He handles the PR for the gallery. He’s been introducing her to art critics and buyers all evening 

The owner of the gallery, Leia Organa-Solo, apparently never makes it over to London - too busy with her American galleries. Rey’s never spoken with her, although Poe has been sure to tell her regularly that Leia ‘loves her work’ and has made promoting ‘women from less privileged backgrounds’ a personal mission. 

Rey is not sure if she actually likes that or not. She’d always rather be recognised for herself, for her talent. She’s not a fan of labels.

She doesn’t see Ren again. Not until Poe finally releases them once the last guest has left, and she heads to the back room to retrieve her bag and change into her trainers and her hoodie, tying her hair up into a messy bun. Not until she’s pulled the hood of the grey jumper up over her head and tugged her rucksack onto her back and she’s stepped out into the cool night’s air. 

She spots him at the other end of the deserted street. He’s waiting while an older lady climbs into the back of a dark Audi. He closes the door behind her. Then he pauses again, like he did back in the gallery. Like he’s heard something. He turns his head towards her, and she scuttles backwards into the shadows involuntarily. But he’s seen her. Their gazes lock for the briefest of moments. He’s not smiling this time. His look is hard, steely. He turns back to the car, opens the front passenger door and slides in.

She watches as the sleek car glides away towards the London traffic. Then she hurries after it, away from this black alley way and towards the bright street lights.

  
***

Her friends have found an old pub round the corner. It’s the traditional type, with dark paneling and stained glass work. A living artifact. They’re rare now, these types of pubs; ‘old man pubs’ the girls from school used to call them. Most have been gutted, opened up, and refurbished. 

By the time she pushes her way through the heavy doors and the other patrons to the table her friends have claimed at the back, only Finn and Rose remain.

“Sunshine!” Finn calls out, a wide smile spreading over his warm face. Finn is Rey’s oldest friend, and as such the only one who can get away with calling her that. That nickname has taunted her too many times through school, through children’s homes and foster placements. Most often it’s been used to mock, said with a sneer or a fake laugh. But Finn, Finn says it with genuine warmth, and it breaks her heart a little bit each time.

Rey met Finn when both were placed in a particularly rough foster set up. The old guy and his invisible wife were clearly only in it for the money, and after two weeks of being nearly half starved, they’d run away together. They didn’t get far before the authorities rounded them up and sent them to new places, but they’d kept in touch, despite the distances and the logistics. Those two weeks had bonded them for life.

“Where have you been?” He protests as she lands herself down on one of the padded stools circling the table. “Those other guys got bored of waiting. It’s a school night, you know.” He waggles his forefinger at her. His eyes are ever so slightly out of focus - like he’s had one too many drinks.

“Light weights!” Rose giggles, tucked in beside Finn. She sways a bit and giggles some more. Neither Finn nor Rose know Rey’s old classmates. They’re engineers, not artists. They met while Finn was on placement in America, and after nearly a year doing the long distance thing, Rose found herself a job in the UK and moved over.

“I think it might be time for you two to go home!” Rey observes.

“No way Rey!” Finn yells. “We have to celebrate tonight. My best friend- the incredibly talented Rey Sanders - has just had her first showing at a properly posh-”

“Ooo it was so posh!” Rose interrupts.

“Art gallery. When you are world famous, and someone writes your biography, they will describe this night as your kicking off point, your turning point. And I want them to write about how you went for a drink afterwards with your best friends Finn and Rose.”

“Finn, if anyone ever writes my life story, you will definitely be in it. You’ll have a leading role.”She throws him a knowing look, thinking about the night they’d spent alone and terrified in a deserted bus station, before some passing policeman had picked them up. “I’m so knackered, guys. Can we just go home?” She yawns. “I am so grateful you came, though. I hope it wasn’t too dull.”

Rise and Finn give each other a glance.

“It was fun.” Rose lies. She snuggles further into Finn’s arm. “I do think I may need to lie down though. The room is spinning. Let’s go, Finn.”

Rose is a born peacemaker. It’s one of the things Rey has grown to love about her. She’d been the tiniest bit jealous of sharing Finn at first.

Finn rolls his eyes, but relents. “Alright, but one group selfie first. I want to record this moment for prosperity’s sake.”

  
  



	2. Kylo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to MyJediLife for betaing!
> 
> Trigger warning: we're going to see a glimpse of Kylo Ren and Marion Snoke's relationship right at the end of this chapter. The relationship is emotionally abusive and may be triggering for some - feel free to skip.

#  **Chapter 2 – Kylo**

He can’t stop thinking about the girl from the gallery. 

Rey.

Which is strange - because Kylo isn’t usually obsessive. Not about people anyway.

He’d spotted her from the other side of the gallery. She’d radiated light through the gloom and shadows, her face beaming at those around her. Her smile was wide and her eyes sparkled. 

But then when he’d spoken to her, those eyes darkened; a deep line forming between her brows as she ground her teeth. He’d felt like the only thirsty man forbidden water. The only one denied her light on his sun-starved face.

He gets up late. Marion has already left for the day. 

He pulls on his gym clothes and heads downstairs. A note pinned to the fridge door reminds him to ‘get some goddamn work done’. He makes himself a black coffee and a bowl of cereal and sits on one of the tall stalls at the giant marble island. He eats alone. 

It’s one of those cold, grey days - the type he doesn’t remember ever encountering in the States. The old, large trees framing the garden beyond the window stand bare, and no flowers or colours have arrived to greet the new Spring yet. A slight breeze is tripping through the grounds, lifting the branches and rustling the perfectly manicured lawn. The days always seem to be the same here.

The girl, Rey, why can’t he stop thinking about her? Maybe it was the way she’d spoken to him, with such clear contempt and disgust, like the voice he hears in his head sometimes.

No one speaks to him like that. Except Marion, when she’s ‘disappointed’ or ‘ashamed’. Usually he’s surrounded by sycophants or people who are distinctly uninterested. If any of them dislike him, they are sensible enough to keep it hidden.

He stacks his mug and bowl in the dishwasher. Returns the milk to the fridge, and the cereal to one of those sliding cupboards - invisible to the eye, handle-less, expensive. He wipes away the few crumbs. Marion despises mess. It’s best to be immaculate. 

He grabs his phone and headphones and pulls on his trainers. He’s still thinking about the girl as he ties his laces. His fingers miss the loops one, two, three times. 

She was his own age. Marion, Marion’s friends, Marion’s friend’s husbands, Marion’s business associates: they’re all twice his age. Shit - even their kids are older than him.

He needs to clear his head. Today he decides he’ll run round the heath twice.

When he returns, the house is still empty. Marion won’t be home until dinner, maybe later, and the chef arrives mid-afternoon to prepare the evening meal.    
  


He heads out into the grounds where she’s built him a studio, where her land borders the heath. The studio’s hidden under a giant oak, between encroaching rhododendron bushes. It’s not a normal artist’s studio, not a lot of natural light. But she’d said it suited his mood.

In one corner she’s had workout equipment installed; ‘to save him a trip to the gym’. There’s air con, too, but today he leaves it switched off. He wants this to be painful, he wants to sweat. 

He thinks about that girl. In that little black dress. All long legs and slim waist. Beautiful in that classically brunette and British way.

He remembers the way she’d stepped back into the shadows and held his gaze. It makes him shiver.

But why is she in his head? He’s surrounded by stunning (incredibly stunning) people all the time. Rich people, he’s noticed, have a way of ensuring they’re attractive despite their genes. 

After an hour he’s done lifting and goes in to shower. He’s got 45 minutes to get to the club, so he decides he’ll grab a sandwich on the way.

He’s playing squash with Hux; the nearest thing he has to a friend - and he can’t really stand the guy. He’s the only son of one of Marion’s oldest friends, and Kylo is pretty sure that Hux takes great delight in telling tales about him to his mother and Marion.

Hux is only five years older, but made a fortune in trading and retired. He seems to spend his days at the club or dabbling in investments ‘just for fun’. He’s smaller and slimmer than Kylo, with a thinning head of golden red hair, pale blue eyes and tight lips curled in a permanent snarl.

At squash, they are usually perfectly matched. Kylo is strong and agile, but Hux is shrewder and tactically smarter. 

However, today Kylo plays like someone possessed. Like he hasn’t spent the morning pushing his body to the limit. Like there’s still energy to burn. Like the squash ball is something he wants to pulverise into dust.

“Fuck Kylo!” Hux mutters, narrowly ducking another strike that promised to smash a rib. “Take it easy! You’re going to break something.”

Kylo snorts and swipes the sweat from his brow. “Can’t stand the heat, Hux?”

“If you’ve got some aggression to lose, use a punching bag. I came for a game of squash, not this bull shit!”

“Fine! Let’s call it quits then.” Kylo mutters, picking up his towel and heading out of the court.

“What?!” Hux cries dismally. “It took me an hour to get over here.”

“You were coming anyway!” 

Kylo hits the shower for the second time that day, vaguely aware of Hux’s ruminations as he follows him into a neighbouring cubicle. Kylo plunges his head under the flow and turns the temperature to freezing. He keeps his head there until his brow screams with pain, and he relents.

It’s no use. He can’t delay it anymore. He needs to head back to the studio.

It’s been three months now. Three months and six days since he’s painted anything. He keeps picking up his pencils, his brushes - but he’s empty, spent, desolate. 

Today is no different. He walks into his studio and doesn’t know where to start. He turns around to stare out the French windows, and his reflection greets him.

***

Later, he’s lying out on the couch scrolling through his phone. There’s the usual invitations to events. Usually he’d ignore them all. He only bothers to turn up to the ones he’s told to. But today, he takes an interest.

When Marion arrives home, he can tell by the way she slams the door that she’s in one of those moods. She’s spoiling for a fight.

It didn’t start out that way. When they’d first met, he’d been desperate. Desperate to succeed, desperate for recognition. He’d cut himself off from his family and friends; scraping to get by.

She’d flattered him, helped him, made him who he is. Kylo Ren.

He wasn’t sure love had ever entered into it. But there had been sex. On her terms, when she wanted. It didn’t bother him. He’d never been particularly interested in either, and the sex has become less frequent. She only wants it now when some young woman or man has shown an interest in him. Then she’s dripping all over him, demanding her pound of flesh. Reminding him he’s hers. 

“Kylo.” She screeches. He hears her bag and her heels hit the side board with a bang and a clatter. “Where are you?!” 

“I’m in the living room.” He lumbers to his feet and draws himself up, bracing himself for what’s to come.

“So?” She asks as she slides into the room.

She is a petite woman, though quite tall. In her youth she was certainly beautiful, but too much sun and too many cigarettes have thinned and creased her skin. She looks worn and leathered, although her eyes are sharp and keen. She still has her admirers. He’s pretty sure there’d been a thing with Hux before him. 

“What, Marion?” He keeps his eyes lowered. She is swaying slightly. He thinks it best to distract her. “Did you have a good evening?”

“A good evening? A good evening?! I had to answer the usual questions about my little genius and his little art projects. What should I tell them, Kylo?! You’re a fucking fraud. All out of ideas.”

Kylo clenches his fists but keeps his gaze down. There is no point in provoking her.

She takes a step towards him and reaches up to grip his face roughly in her fingers, her long manicured nails digging into his skin.

“Look at me, you useless piece of shit.” He looks into her eyes. “What did you do today? Anything?” He holds her gaze and shakes his head.

She laughs and throws his face away. “It’s no good, Kylo. I won’t have this. I won’t be embarrassed, humiliated like this. Do you understand?”

“Yes Marion.” He chants automatically.

Her brow furrows. “Don’t talk to me like I’m your mother!” She examines him long and hard, then draws back her hand and slaps him fiercely round the cheek.

His skin smarts, and his eyes flick up to meet hers. There’s a delighted glint. 

He clenches his fists tighter. He’s an expert at suppressing his emotions, flattening his feelings. It’s only ever rage that breaks through the carefully erected shield. He can feel it bubbling in his stomach now, building powerfully, ready to erupt.

He needs air.

He turns and strides through the house. He can hear Marion distantly calling after him but it’s drowned out by the roaring he hears in his ears, and the sound of his pulse pounding in his temples. 

He slides back the doors and steps out into the black night. The wind is more powerful now. It whips around his head and his body, angrily frisking the trees. Mirroring his mood.

He stomps to the trees and kicks around until he finds a long, straight stick. He picks it up and grips it firmly in two hands like a baseball bat. He plants his feet hip width, then swings back and drives the stick against the trunk of a chestnut tree. He strikes again, and the stick snaps, the bark scarred. Then he smacks again, and again, and again, until his shoulders ache and there’s nothing but splinters left in his palms.


	3. Green Park

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again thank to MyJediLife

#  **Chapter 3 – Green Park**

“I have good news!” Poe announces as soon as Rey arrives at the table he’s secured out front. His little dog, BeeBee, a golden doodle he picked up at Battersea Dogs Home, jumps up to greet her, placing both front paws on her thighs and trying desperately to lick her hands as she rubs his cheeks.

“Poe, I am stealing this dog.”

“That dog would never leave me!”

“Really?” She asks as she slides into the chair opposite him and BeeBee comes to lean against her legs and rest his chin in her lap.

“I admit, he likes you, but I am his one and only true love.” He reaches around and pats the dog’s back.

Rey picks up the menu in front of her and scans the choices. She looks for the cheapest options, the ones she can afford.

“What’s the news?”

“Leia has been speaking with Maz.” He pauses. “You do know who she is right?” It’s said genuinely, without a trace of sarcasm. Poe is helping Rey play catch up. She went to art school late; having to scrimp and save first. Her various foster parents had no interest in taking her to art galleries or museums, and she could never afford school trips to places like Paris and Florence (even if any of her state schools had offered them).

But Maz she does know. “Err, YES! She is an amazing artist!”

“She is also a big collector, and likes to sponsor new artists. She is very keen to meet you.”

“Really?” Rey looks up from her menu to study Poe’s face and assure herself he’s serious.

“Yes. She loves your stuff. Leia loves your stuff.” He leans forward and places his hands over hers. “We all love your stuff!” He gives her a stern look, then dazzles her with one of his hundred watt smiles and flings his hands back into his lap.

Rey’s own hands fly to her mouth. “I...I…”

“You’re speechless”.

“I’m speechless.”

“It’s a great opportunity. If you hit it off, I think she’ll be more than keen to mentor you.”

“When does she want to meet?”

“She’s over here for some corporate sponsored award thing in a fortnight. She wants to meet you for lunch and then take you along. It’ll be another great networking opportunity, Rey.”

She pulls a face.

“I know you hate it, but an artist’s gotta eat. Speaking of which, what are you having? I’ll go in and order.”

“Just the cheese toastie, please.”

“With fries?”

“No thanks.”

He throws another of those looks. “I’m paying, actually the gallery’s paying. How about the brie and bacon panini and we’ll share a salad and fries?”

She smiles. “Ok.”

“I’ll be right back. Don’t abscond with my dog!”

***

  
Maz is so much smaller in person than Rey imagined. She’d heard her described as elfin and childlike, but the woman barely comes up to Rey’s armpits and is incredibly slight. This makes her large round head and big brown eyes look even bigger than they are. She wears circular, thick glasses that magnify her eyes further, and a colourful turban tied round her head. Her overalls match the turban’s colours and design and on her tiny feet are bright red doc martens. She is just what Rey always expected an artist to look like.

Despite her nerves, the lunch goes well and the conversation flows between them easily. Maz, despite her fame and wealth, is kind, unpretentious and very funny. She has Rey spluttering and sniggering several times during their Indian meal.

(“_ The Indian food in America is awful. I always crave curry when I’m over here, especially since English food tastes like horse shit _.”)

At the end of the lunch, Maz insists on paying and tells Rey:

“Well, my dear, I like you a lot. You have spunk and talent. Leia was spot on.”

“I’ve never actually met her.” Rey confesses.

Maz slaps the table. “That sly fox. Still, Leia has a sixth sense about these things.”

She studies Rey’s face for a moment. “I’d very much like to mentor you, Rey, if you’ll have me. I think I could help you a lot. Our backgrounds are pretty similar. Nobody to look out for us. And, actually, I needed help from someone who’d been there, done that, when I was first starting out.”

“I’d like that,” Rey beams. “Thank you!”

Maz chuckles. “I feel like I’ve just asked you out! Now come on, we’d better hop to it. I need to be at this ghastly event in 30 minutes.”

***

The ‘ghastly event’ is an arts award programme paid for by some ancient family banking company. Maz is the guest of honour, and is handing out the prizes.

(“_ I’m only doing it because the more money for the arts, the better. Although I do have my limits- no tobacco, no oil, no empires built off the back of slavery _.”)

The ceremony is an afternoon event held in the ballroom of one of the grand hotels that circle Green Park. It’s a strange mix of colourful artsy and dull corporate types. But the food tastes amazing, and Rey is in such a good mood after her lunch with Maz, she almost enjoys mingling, chatting and being introduced to new people.

She doesn’t see Kylo Ren until she’s leaving, so busy tapping a message out to Poe on her phone that she doesn’t notice who's holding the door open on her way out.

“Hi,” he says.

“Uh, hi,” she answers, looking up from her phone, slightly stunned to see him there.

“You leaving?”

“Yep.”

“Do you,” he hesitates, and she begins to walk. He follows alongside. “Do you fancy getting a coffee?”

“Oh, I don’t drink coffee.” She says, her attention diverted back to her phone.

“You’re an artist and you don’t like coffee?”

She looks back up at him. The corners of his mouth are twitching.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it. I don’t _ drink _ it.” He gives her a quizzical look. “It makes me jittery.”

“But you’re ok with afternoon drinking?”

She is most definitely not okay with afternoon drinking, but she’s not going to get into that with him.

“Yep.” Her pace is quick as she tries to shake him off, but with his long legs he’s practically strolling.

“Well how about another drink then?”

“Oh, no.” She shakes her head. 

And maybe it’s the buzz from earlier that’s made everything a little blurred around the edges. Maybe it’s that. Or maybe it’s that she notices again his broad shoulders and sculptured chest and those pretty brown eyes. Because she says: “But I’d murder a cup of tea.”

They wander along the wide pavement. It’s the first time the sun has shone in weeks, and the street is full of people who’ve left work to head outside.

“How about that kiosk by the tube station? We could sit outside in the park.”

He nods and they walk through the large iron gates into Green Park and join the back of the kiosk queue.

They stand in silence. 

She wonders why he invited her out - if that’s what they’re doing - but she’s reluctant to be the one to break it. 

She still doesn’t like this guy. She’s seen his most recent tweets. Full of venom. Full of vitriol. The tweets about the Resistance exhibition were hardly complimentary, although fortunately none of the critique was aimed at her.

She frowns and examines his face. Blank, still. So pale he looks like a marble statue. She can’t see where all that hate can come from.

He senses her gaze and turns his head to meet her eyes. They’re framed by dark, long lashes and the brown of his irises remind her of chocolate sauce on sundaes.

“You have that same look about you. From the gallery. When you called me a monster.”

“Your twitter feed.” She sighs and looks down at the ground. “You are a monster.”

His eyes remain on her. “Yes. Yes I am.” 

She flicks her sight back to him, but he’s stepping forward, closing the gap between them and the people queueing in front.

She contemplates leaving. But she’s curious. His voice sounded sad, yet resigned, and almost proud. She steps forward to join him. 

Finn would say it’s just like her - never one to resist a soul in need. Always helping old ladies across roads. It’s an exaggeration - but there’s an element of truth in it. In the homes, she’d always be the one the younger children sought out for comfort.

They reach the kiosk. He orders a black coffee, she a tea. She tries to pay, but he scoffs at her.

“It’s a couple of pounds.”

The park is full of tourists and newly freed workers soaking up the weak spring warmth. There are no free benches, so Rey walks towards a clear patch of grass and sits down. Kylo hesitates, then follows.

“You seemed happy, before at the hotel.” He observes. It’s true. She couldn’t stop smiling earlier

“I was - I am!” She concedes. “Maz just offered to be my mentor!”

“That’s good.”

She shakes her head at him.

“No, that’s amazing! I think she can teach me a lot.”

“It’s not a mentor’s job to teach you.”

She frowns at him. “Well, no, but you know what I mean.” 

She places her cup down and puts her hands behind her. Then she leans back and stretches her feet out in front. She beams again, despite his stone like face. Nothing will ruin her mood today. “I feel like I’m finally going somewhere. Like things are finally happening. I sold two sculptures at the exhibition, you know.”

“I told you you were good.” His mouth twitches again.

“Did you? I seem to recall you weren’t quite as flattering.”

He looks at his drink. Then takes a sip. “You’re good. Your work is good.”

“Thank you.” She throws her head back and peers up through the branches above them, still bare although a spattering of buds have appeared.

“Do you paint, too?” He asks.

“I can, but I don’t really. I sketch a lot. Sometimes just for fun, sometimes to help me visualise my sculptures.”

He nods. “How does it work? Do you find random stuff and use it in your sculptures, or do you look for things intentionally?”

She sits forward again. “Oh, I’m a scavenger. Always have been. If I wasn’t an artist, I’d be a mechanic. Or maybe working in a junkyard.”

“Hence the motorbike.”

She jerks around to look at him.

“How do you know about that?”

“I saw it in your Instagram.”

“You were looking at my Instagram?”

He frowns and looks away, takes another sip of his coffee. “Isn’t that what it’s there for?”

“Hmm. I guess. Poe made me set it up.”

“Poe?”

“He handles the PR for the Resistance, but he’s been helping me out, too. He set up the meeting with Maz.”

His eyes darken momentarily, and she’s not sure why. 

She looks down at his hands, one gripping his cup, the other resting on his bent knee. She picks up his free hand in her own and pulls it towards her. He flinches ever so slightly, almost so she might have imagined it.

“Sorry.” She says, not letting go.

He peers at her, his head bent down so he’s hiding behind his hair that’s dropped to hang before him.

“It’s-” he coughs. “Fine.”

“I just noticed this before on your hands.” She traces a line of red over his thumb and a circle of black on his knuckle pads. “Red and black. Very Vader. Are they your favourite colours?” She lets go of his hand, and it floats in the space between them for a minute before he pulls it back into his lap.

He’s still staring at her; his mouth a little ajar.

She laughs.

“I’m not sure I have a favourite colour. Isn’t that a thing kids do?” He finally answers.

“Oh you mean,” she puts on a childish voice. “My name’s Rey, I’m six and my favourite colour is green.”

“Is it?”

“Yes. It actually is.”

“Why?”

“Because it always surprises me. You think green is one colour, and then you look around you and it’s not. It’s so many different colours.” She looks out across the park at the dirty yellow green of the grass, the new fresh green of the buds, and the dark, masculine green of the firs. “And I grew up in a desert of concrete, starved of anything green.” She can feel his eyes travelling over her face. 

They’re both quiet for a moment. Then she points back at his hands.

“But that’s not paint, is it?”

“No, its ink.”

“I’ve never seen any of your stuff in ink.”

“It’s not my art. I...I do calligraphy.”

“Calligraphy?” She knows her voice sounds a little shocked, and her cheeks redden.

He doesn’t seem bothered. His face is as impassive as ever, although that twitch dances on his lips again.

“Yes. I saw it once when I was visiting the Middle East. It’s harder than it looks. It takes mastery. I’m still learning.”

She’s surprised to hear the great Kylo Ren admit he’s not perfect at something.

“Have you ever shown it?”

“No, it’s not for showing. It’s private.”

Her phone chirps in her pocket. She pulls it out and peers at the screen.

“Shit! I’ve got to go.” She scrambles to her feet, reaching for her drink. He follows after her. “Thanks for my tea.”

“Can I give you my number?” He blurts out as she’s beginning to turn away. “In case I can be of any help? For advice or whatever?” She twists to look at him again, as she’d done in the gallery before.

She considers for a moment.

“Sure, why not.”

****

_ Later she messages him: _

  
I just saw your instagram 

Who is this? 

Rey?

Yep

I thought it was only fair. You’d seen mine so I should see yours

And?

😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

Wtf?

I’m-Sorry-Can’t-Breath-Laughing-Too-Hard

Wtf

What’s so funny?

All the 💪💪💪💪💪💪💪💪💪

🖕 My followers like it

Oh I bet they do!!

It’s part of my image

Hmmm

Marion says it helps my image

Who’s Marion? Your manager?

Marion Snoke 

  
***

Later she googles Marion Snoke. A woman with unimaginable wealth. Earned from, according to wiki, potentially dubious means. There’s an article in a left wing paper from six months ago. It exposes her links to arms deals with dictators and authoritarian regimes, bent on annihilating their own people. The journalist rests the blame for the deaths of hundreds of innocent children firmly at Marian Snoke’s door.

A door she shares with Kylo. 

They live together. Kylo and Snoke. They’ve been living together for ten years.

She’s not sure why that makes her feel sick. She doesn’t like him. He isn’t a nice person. He’s not even a person who pretends to be nice. It’s all out there. In your face. 

And yet.

  



	4. The art of flirting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chapter dedicated to the art of flirting by text (because I'm a sucker for a bit of flirting).  
Or  
Rey and Kylo get to know each other better

Kylo Ren  
  
I don’t know how this works but I found him lost and alone on the Heath.  
  
I thought you could offer him a home. ( maybe use him in one of your sculptures)   
  
[](http://images.shoutwiki.com/lego/thumb/6/67/Stormtrooper-75060.png/250px-Stormtrooper-75060.png)  
  
OMG a stormtrooper!   
  
He is adorable! I will home him.  
  
Send him to me.  
  
I’ll drop him by the resistance gallery.  
  
Or post him.  
  
If you wouldn’t mind  
  
You’ll have to give me your address. Me. A monster.   
  
I’m rolling my eyes But the stuff on Twitter is monstrous!   
I won’t take that back Kyle.   
  
*Kylie   
  
*Kyla   
  
Bloody autocorrect! KYLO!!   
  
It’s Ben.   
  
What is?   
  
My name   
  
Huh?   
  
My name is Ben.   
  
Oh. So is Kylo like a middle name?   
  
No it’s a pseudonym.  
  
I like Ben   
  


  


Ben/Kylo Ren  
  
I haven’t had a chance to post our friend yet. I will do it today.   
  
But he was getting a bit lonely in the meantime. So I found him some friends.   
  
[](https://live.staticflickr.com/8053/8124503687_2608a41e74_b.jpg)  
  
Did you draw that! I love it 🥰  
  
But are they dancing?  
  
They’re at a rave. They’re young. They have energy to burn.   
  
Do raves still exist?  
  
It’s what stormtroopers do.  
  
Right.  
  


  


Rey  
  
So Humphrey’s arrived.  
  
But he’s looking a bit lost in his new home.   
  
Have you named him Humphrey?  
  
Yep  
  
You can’t call a stormtrooper Humphrey!  
  
Oh yes I can! 😜  
  
Hmmm  
  
Actually He’s not feeling lost. He’s probably looking at all your lady shit and thinking: are there any Lego ladies about?   
  
He’s been away fighting for a long time. He’s love and sex starved.   
  
I see. I may be able to help him with that....  
  
Rey!   
  
Ben!  
  


  


Ben/Kylo Ren  
  
[](http://www.thebricktestament.com/epistles_of_paul/instructions_on_marriage/1co07_05b.jpg)  
  
What have you sent me? My eyes are burning?  
  
😘  
  
I was not expecting Lego porn at this hour of the morning!  
  
I thought you’d be pleased our friend got laid. She’s also nice. I approve.   
  
Have they been keeping you awake?  
  
The stuff I have seen and heard would make you blush.   
  
I hope he used protection!!  
  
Oh god! My house is going to be overrun by little Lego people.   
  
It’ll be like keeping 🐇   
  


  


Rey  
  
Uh oh!  
  
[](https://i.stack.imgur.com/A4sBC.jpg)  
  
Is she 'with child'? Congratulations to the happy couple.  
  
When's the wedding?  
  
Oh they’re not getting married.  
  
I thought stormtroopers were pretty traditional!  
  
Margery is a free spirit.  
  
Margery?  
  
Yep.  
  
Rebelling against that name  
  
Probably. Her parents are pissed.  
  
They’re religious?  
  
How'd you know!  
  


  


Rey  
  
Ben! The little baby Lego cot you sent is so cute! Humphrey and Margery are extremely touched. Where d’you find it?  
  
It’s nothing. I feel responsible. I should’ve given Humph the birds and the bees talk before sending him out into the big, bad world.  
  
You’re sweet.  
  
Am I?  
  
I think the monster has a heart.  
  


  


Rey  
  
R u 🤒?  
  
No I don’t get sick. Why?  
  
Your latest tweet was...nice  
  
This again?  
  
Yes this again.  
  
Not all my tweets are critical.  
  
Yes they are. Plus rude, abusive, hateful..  
  
You know that’s what Twitter is right? Rude, abusive, hateful. .  
  
I know 😣   
  
I don’t understand why people say all this horrible stuff that they’d never say in real life or to a person’s face.   
  
Why are you on it then?   
  
Poe said it’s a good way to get known, learn more about the art world, make connections.  
  
He's right  
  
I think you Brits are too polite for Twitter  
  
There are plenty of British knobheads on twitter  
  
Do you miss the states?  
  
I miss the coffee. And the straight talking.  
  
How long have you lived in London?  
  
10 years  
  
I’ve never been to the US  
  
Last year was the first time I ever left the country.   
  
Never had a passport before.  
  
Where'd you go?  
  
Paris with Finn and Rose  
  
Finn and Rose?  
  
Finn= BFF  
  
Rose= His girlfriend  
  
I think I've seen them on your insta  
  


Ben/Kylo Ren  
  
I get abuse back on Twitter you know. Got a few trolls too.  
  
Got all those female admirers too though?  
  
Some are a bit intense. They send me messages about what they want to do to me.   
  
🙀 Pictures?   
  
Yes  
  
🤣Tell me more!  
  
What do you want to know?  
  
What’s been the wildest, or creepiest?  
  
One wanted to do unmentionable things with my paint brushes while I painted her  
  
Oh god. Have you ever....  
  
Taken up the offer? No  
  
Been tempted?  
  
No  
  


  


Rey  
  
I think that the whole paintbrush story has given Humph and Marg some ideas....  
  
Please no! They’ve got kids now they shouldn’t be doing that shit  
  
They’ve got to keep things fresh  
  
There are better ways to spice up your sex life  
  
Care to share...  
  
Tell them to look on the internet  
  
Internet fan are you?  
  
Isn’t everyone?  
  
What exactly are we talking? Porn, erotica?  
  
Not watched porn in a long time  
  
You’re male right?  
  
I prefer the real thing - How about you?   
  
Am I male? No  
  
I told you mine.  
  
No you didn’t! I think I like the real thing too  
  
You think?  
  
Not had a whole lot of experience.  
  
Not recently anyway.   
  
Too busy working I guess  
  


  


Rey  
  
I’m thinking of going to see the new exhibition at the Tate Modern. Did you wanna come?  
  
I don’t like to go and see my own stuff.  
  
Ben Ren. You’re in the Tate! I fall down on my knees and worship you.   
  
Don’t. It’s two small pieces.  
  
Wait  
  
Wait wait wait  
  
Ben REN!! Is that the real reson you changed your name?  
  
Benny Renny.  
  
It's Solo  
  
What is?  
  
My surname. You didn't know that?  
  
No, why would I?  
  
OK  
  
Wait. No. Does that mean? Solo as in Leia Solo? Are you related?  
  
She's my Mum  
  
How did I not know that?  
  
We don't talk  
  
Oh  
  
Not for a long time  
  


Rey  
  
Are you sure you don’t want to go to the Tate? We could skip your pictures.  
  
I might get recognised. It would be awkward if I got spotted looking at my own stuff.  
  
I love the Tate Modern. I love the view over to St Paul’s and walking along the South Bank. It’s my favourite part of London.   
  
I’ve never been  
  
WHAT?! How is that possible?  
  
🤷  
  
When I was about 7 I was staying at this home where they only had two dvds. One was Mary Poppins. We watched it ALL the time. Have you seen it?   
  
Years ago  
  
I loved the song about the old lady sitting on the steps of St. Paul’s and feeding the birds. That song still gets to me   
  
What do you mean - this home?☝️  
  
Huh?  
  
You were staying at a home?  
  
I grew up in the care system.  
  
Right. Will you show me St Paul’s?  
  
👏👏👏 You can meet me after I’ve looked at the exhibition.   
  
When?  
  
Starts 23rd June   
  
Ok how about the Friday afternoon?  
  
It’s a date!  
  
I mean a date in the diary.  
  
Not a date date  
  
I know  
  


Rey  
  
It’s a beautiful May Day. Don’t you think?  
  
Suppose.  
  
Oh the great Kylo Ren can’t admit to liking a beautiful sunny day.  
  
You done?  
  
Never  
  
Spring is my favourite season.  
  
Why am I not surprised?!  
  
I will ignore that. Because it is a beautiful day and I have a dog  
  
You got a dog?  
  
No I’m dog sitting for Poe. His name is BeeBee and he is adorable but he needs a walk.  
  
I’m thinking of taking him up to Hampstead Heath. It’s near you, right? Wanna come?  
  
I don’t like dogs  
  
Ok. Don’t worry about it  
  
No I’ll come  
  
It’s fine Ben  
  
BeeBee is good company. Don’t worry about it  
  
Rey I want to come. What time?  
  
2? Will you meet me by Highgate tube? I always get lost round there  
  
OK  
  
BeeBee is AMAZING! You’ll love him I promise.  
  
I doubt it.  
  
See you later 😘  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies if the images in these text messages didn't work - Ao3 tests my IT skill limits. If you hover over where there are spaces for images you should be able to follow the links if you want to. Stormtroopers really do rave!
> 
> Thanks again to @myjedilife for the beta
> 
> Next chapter: normal service resumes....


	5. Hampstead Heath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey and Ben finally meet up and we learn more about Ben's past.

Chapter 5 – Hampstead Heath

“So when you said you didn’t like dogs, what you meant was dogs don’t like you?”

The fluff ball stops growling at him, and starts sniffing suspiciously around his feet.

“He just thinks you’re his girlfriend, and I’m some kind of competition.”

“No, I’m his Mummy, and he’s just protective of me, aren’t you BeeBee?” Rey looks down at the dog with such affection, Ben feels a pang of jealousy.

But then she looks back up to him, and smiles that bright smile. She’s never smiled at him before, and he doesn’t know how that makes him feel.

“Shall we go then?”

“You know it’s mostly uphill from here?” He says, leading the way up the high street.

“I think I can manage.” She scoffs.

“I was thinking more about him.” He says, jerking his head towards the dog.

“Oh, he’s a sly one. He looks all cute and innocent - but give him half a chance and he’ll bolt for freedom - and I’ll be chasing after him!”

“I’ll take your word for that.” He replies skeptically, examining the dog’s short legs and pudgy stomach.

Rey giggles.

_God she’s adorable, _he thinks to himself.

She’s wearing a loose, floaty dress with a high neck and long sleeves. Her tanned legs are bare, and on her feet are a pair of very battered running shoes. She has half her hair pulled up in a messy bun, and the other half hangs loose, just brushing the tops of her shoulders. The sun catches strands highlighting tints of copper and chestnut and gold. Her face is barer than he’s seen it before except for a smudge of something wet on her lips that makes them shimmer in the light, along with the hazel of her eyes.

She looks radiant. And although the dress doesn’t cling to her like that one did in the gallery, it’s all the more alluring. Teasing him with the thought of what’s beneath.

Fuck. He needs to stop thinking that way.

He knows he shouldn’t be here. He knows that it’s dangerous. He knows that Marion would not allow it if she knew.

But he’s pretty sure it’s only himself he’s fucking over here. Only himself he’s torturing.

Rey knows about Marion. Everyone in the art world knows about him and Marion. Besides, Rey’s just one of those people, friendly to everyone. It doesn’t mean anything. They barely know one another.

“We have to turn off here.” He instructs, leading her along a residential street lined with grand houses. 

Shit, he really wants to reach out and hold her hand - and he hasn’t held anyone’s hand since he was a kid.

“I’m so lost already,” She confesses. “I used to come here when I was a teenager. We’d been reading Wuthering Heights at school. I’d walk around the heath in the dusk imagining I was Cathy out on the moors.”

He knows the heath is no safe place for a young girl in the evenings and, once again, he thinks about the kind of childhood she must have had.

“I’ve never read Wuthering Heights.”

“What?! Isn’t Kylo Ren pretty much modelled on Heathcliff?”

He shrugs. “Vaguely on Darth Vader, if anyone.”

They reach the Heath gates and Rey unclips BeeBee from his lead. They follow a path across the grassland. Now that they’re away from the roads, BeeBee stretches out ahead, trotting along, slowing to examine a scent or pausing to cock a leg.

“So, tell me about the obsession with Darth Vader.”

“I’m not obsessed.”

She rolls her eyes and smiles at him. “Tell me about how Darth Vader influences you then?”

He sighs. “You really wanna know? You could read one of my interviews.”

“Firstly, we have the time, don’t we? And secondly, I’ve read some of your interviews. You never say anything.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s all carefully worded, PR bullshit, Ben.”

“Maybe - but the truth is a long and complicated story.”

“It always is.”

He looks at her, but she’s watching BeeBee on the path ahead.

He sighs again. “I got sent to a lot of shrinks as a kid, and one suggested I try expressing myself through art. Anyway, I guess I had a lot of dark feelings to express, and someone mentioned that my stuff reminded them of Darth Vader’s. I looked it up and it all went from there.”

“I got sent to art therapy too - that’s how I got into art.”

They reach the brow of the Heath’s hill and both pause. From here they can see right out across the whole of London.

“Look.” She says squinting against the sun. “There’s the Shard. I hated that building when they were constructing it, but now I think it’s sorta magical, the way it changes colour in the different lights.”

She steps towards him and rests her hand on his shoulder. A small hand with finger nails bitten down low. He feels his body freeze under her touch.

“There.” She points out with her other hand. “That’s St. Paul’s in front of the Shard. Can you see?” She’s leaning in to him now and her hair brushes briefly against his cheek.

BeeBee barks behind them and she spins away.

“What is it BeeBee?”

Ben stays where he is, feet planted to the ground, breathing deeply. He regains his composure and turns. 

BeeBee and another dog chase each other in circles and Rey stands chatting to an older, grey-haired man. The man’s arms are crossed over his chest and he dips his head to say something to Rey. She throws back her head and laughs.

She has such ease with people, such ease with strangers. 

The man and Rey exchange a few more words and then he whistles and draws his dog away.

Rey and BeeBee return to Ben.

“Hey.” She looks up at him.

“Hey. New friend?”

“BeeBee’s new friend.” She looks out over London again. “God I love this view. Let’s sit for a bit.”

Rey drops to the ground and tucks her legs to the side. She pulls a rubber ball from her purse and pats the ground next to her.

BeeBee spots the ball and begins to bounce on the spot, barking his eagerness to get started with a game of fetch. Rey draws her arm back and throws the ball high into the air. BeeBee bounds away following its projection.

She is lean but strong, he notes, and the ball travels much further than he expects.

“Nice throw.” He observes as he sits, bending his legs and resting his forearms on his knees.

“Oh please! Not that old crap about girls not being able to throw a ball.”

BeeBee lumbers up the hill towards them, ball in mouth, tongue hanging out one side as he pants. He drops the ball in front of Rey, barks, looks at her, then the ball and barks again.

Rey picks up the ball and holds it out to Ben. BeeBee follows the ball with his eyes, dancing on the spot.

“Your go?”

“I am not touching that!” He says, looking disgustedly at the ball covered in dog drool.

She wipes the ball on the grass and tosses it towards him.

He reaches out and catches it in one hand, then lobs it down the hill. BeeBee yelps and sprints away.

“You don’t have many friends, I think.” He says, wiping his hand on his dark jeans. She tilts her head. “It’s an observation, not an insult.” He adds quickly. “I just wondered why. You seem to like people.”

She laughs. “I do like people. I’m just picky.”

He meets her gaze and she turns away and picks at the grass between them.

He notices the soft skin between her neck and shoulder, where it dips. He has an urge to reach out and stroke it, to press his lips there and drag his tongue up her neck. He swallows.

“It takes time for me to trust people.” She whispers.

He feels that strange anger stir again when he imagines her childhood. 

“You need to let the past die, Rey. Kill it if you have to.”

She turns her eyes towards him and her gaze falls to his lips.

But whatever the moment is, it’s broken by the arrival of BeeBee, exhausted now by his two climbs up the steep hill. He collapses next to Rey and his head flops into her lap.

“Hey!” She says, laughing and running her hands through his fur, petting his velvety ears.

Ben’s thoughts turn obscene and he looks away.

“How’s work?” She asks. “I mean, what are you working on at the moment?”

His shoulders tense and he has to force them back down, away from his ears.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Ooo, is it top secret? I’m hardly going to steal your ideas.”

“I said I’d rather not talk about it.” He snaps.

Her eyes are full of concern. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

She reaches out, and her fingers wrap around the top of his arm, and her thumb slides back and forth across his skin. He closes his eyes against the softness, the kindness, of her touch.

“I’ve not painted for three months.” His eyes stay shut. “I’m having a block.”

Her hand stays there a moment longer, then pulls away.

There’s silence for a moment as if she’s waiting for him to say more, but he doesn’t.

“Come on.” She says “Let’s walk some more.”

He follows her and they walk. The silence continues and he’s suddenly panicked that this might all end. That meeting him like this for real will mean she’ll see what he is. Not open like her, not kind. Dark, humourless, bad. And then she’ll leave and he’ll never see her again. 

_Shit._ He doesn’t want that. And he doesn’t want to think too hard about why that is.

He forces himself to speak. “How’s your work going? Are Humph and Marge going to make an appearance?”

“Oh no, I’ve become a bit too attached to them. I don’t think I could part with them.”

The path dips into a wooded area and narrows between nettles and brambles. He lets her go first, behind BeeBee. He can look at her properly now, no half stolen glances. 

He notes the contours of her calves, the tight muscles that contract and relax as she lifts her feet. The way her hands swing ever so slightly as she walks. The loose strands of hair that she keeps reaching to brush behind her ears.

They emerge from the trees, and she waits for him so they can walk side by side again.

“Work is going well.” She continues.

He nods.

“Maz has commissioned a piece from me. Oh, and your Mum has arranged for me to be featured in an arts magazine.”

“That’s great, Rey.” He forces himself to say despite the displeasure he feels at the mention of his mother.

“I’ve never met her.”

“Who?”

“Your Mum.”

“How did she find you then?” He asks, curious.

“Through Luke Skywalker.”’ His shoulders tense and his nostrils flare, but she doesn’t seem to notice. “Your uncle?” She asks, glancing at him for confirmation.

He nods stiffly.

“How do you know Luke?” He practically spits out the name - but again she appears oblivious.

“Oh, I took some of his classes at art school. He sent her some photos of my work.”

“He taught you?” He hisses through gritted teeth.

“Yes.” She sees it now. She wears her emotions so clearly on her face, and she looks - alarmed. And yet he can’t help himself, the rage is boiling inside him. He’s stopped walking and his hands have curled into fists by his sides.

“You fucked him?!”

“What?!” She recoils from him, leaning away.

“Luke. He has a reputation. Just like his father.” He snarls. 

Her face is one of shock and - hurt. And now he knows he’s messed up. Panic replaces fury.

“Sorry.” He pleads. He drags his hand over his face as if he hopes to wipe away his words. She takes a step backwards. “Rey, I’m sorry.” He brings his hands up in surrender, too scared to reach out towards her in case she’s spooked and flees. “Luke.” He swallows. He can’t bring himself to meet her eyes. “It was him... he triggered the fall out with my family. It still....” His words trail away. 

He ventures a look at her face. There’s a look of anger there now.

“Ok. I understand.” She counters slowly. “But friends don’t talk to each other like that, Ben.”

_Friends. They’re friends. That’s what this is._ Why does that bring a rush of pleasure - with an equal rush of disappointment?

“I know. I’m sorry.” Then, because it’s her and somehow he can say the things he feels with her, he confesses: “I don’t have many friends either. I never really have.”

She nods, and her expression softens.

“Let’s go down to the ponds. I always like watching the crazies swim. Which way?” She asks, spinning her head to find her bearings. 

“This way.” He answers, pointing, and they walk again.

...

When they finish their walk around the heath, they go for a pint at a pub that sits on the perimeter of the heath, because it’s something she’d always wanted to do when she was younger - but could never get served.

The sun falls lower in the sky, and the air cools. Must people sit inside, but Rey doesn’t want to leave BeeBee alone so they find a bench and sit side by side, BeeBee lying at their feet, pints of beer on their knees.

It feels domestic, cozy. Her thigh and arm press occasionally against his, and he almost convinces himself he can feel the heat from her body warming his own.

“What happened with your uncle?” She asks finally. 

“Are you still in touch with him?”

She takes a sip from her beer, the head staining her top lip with bubbles that linger there briefly before vanishing.

“No. He liked my work and helped with the introduction to your Mum. But we didn’t exactly see eye to eye. We see things differently, I guess.”

“Hmmm. What did he say about me?”

“He never mentioned you were his nephew, but he was pretty outspoken about your lack of respect for other artists. And he clearly doesn’t like your style of painting.”

He realises Luke’s views probably influenced her own; and were the cause of her initial hostility and dislike. He feels that anger but blows out hard, trying to dispel it.

“What happened?” She asks again softly.

He sighs. “He tried to have me sectioned!”

Her eyes widen.

“I mean, I was a messed up kid. I did some bad shit. But then I started painting and he said I was disturbed. He tried to persuade my mum I needed to be put away. She defended him. My dad...my dad was fucking absent as usual. So, I got the hell out of there. Moved to the UK with nothing.”

“I’m sorry.” 

He looks at his beer, swills it round and takes a large gulp.

“It’s fine. It’s history.”

“What did you mean about your grandfather earlier?”

“Huh?”

“You said Luke was like his father.”

“Anakin Skywalker.”

She stares at him blankly.

“Darth Vader.”

“Oh. _Oh!_ Darth Vader was Luke’s father.”

“You didn’t know that?”

“Well, Luke never said and I’m still playing catch up, Ben, on all this art history. I know I should know. But...but it makes my head hurt.” She smiles at him, and the corners of his mouth twitch involuntarily.

“Darth Vader was a great artist. But he was also an addict and a scoundrel. He got my grandmother pregnant with twins, then left her penniless, unmarried and ill. She died in childbirth.”

“Oh shit!” Rey cries, her hand flying to her mouth.

He examines her face. “Is that- is that what happened to you? Did your parents die?”

She plays with the sleeve of her dress. “No.”

He nods, takes another swig of his pint.

“My mum and uncle were separated and adopted. They didn’t know about each other, or who their parents were, until they were young adults. When they found Anakin he was dying of liver failure.” He drinks again. “Personally I thought the bastard deserved a more painful death.”

“But I don’t understand, Ben-”

“They never told me! Any of this stuff. I’d already begun painting like him, admiring him, emulating him. I had no fucking idea.”

He wishes she’d rub his arm again, like she did in the park, but instead they sit quietly. He can hear the hum of an extractor fan rotating on the pub wall and the purr of the traffic in the distance, the murmur of voices, and BeeBee’s irregular snores.

_I’m screwed up_, he thinks. _She’ll never want to see me again._

She downs the last dredges of her pint and turns to look at him. Her eyes are browner now in the dusk, the colour of autumn leaves.

“I’d better get going, Ben.”

“Right.”

“BeeBee needs his dinner. He suffers from hanger.”

“Hanger?”

“Anger caused by hunger. I may also be a little prone - and you do not want to see that!”

“Ok.” He knocks back the remainder of his beer.

“It was a lovely walk - thank you.”

“My pleasure. And the dog isn’t so bad actually.” He swallows a sadness starting to envelope him.

“Hah! I knew it. Will you walk me back to the tube?”

He nods. She smiles one more time, flooring him. 

“And we’re still on for our tour of St Paul’s and the south bank, right?” She asks.

He smiles at that. For the first time.

...

When he gets home he’s restless in a way he can’t ever remember being before. He heads for his studio and picks up a paintbrush and paints. He knows it will be rubbish, but the act brings a sense of calm which it hasn’t for many years.

When Marion comes in to find him, returned from her trip to Europe, she simply says, “Good.” Not commenting on the quality of his work. Then she adds, “We have drinks at the Guard’s tonight. The car is picking us up at 9.”

He packs away his paints, washes his brushes and goes to shower.

That restless feeling has returned. Even in the shower he can’t keep still. His whole body seems to be tingling with some indispensable energy.

When he looks down he sees his cock is half hard in his hand, and then he recognises what this is. An old electricity, buried for so long, now stirring. A force awakening.

He hasn’t done this for years. He’d dismissed it as pointless. But now as he squeezes gel into his hand and grips himself, sliding his hand up and down his shaft, pumping his cock; it feels exquisite, it feels delicious. Quickly the pressure builds and every nerve screams for release. He braces himself against the tiled wall, his legs shaking. And then he comes hard, loud and gloriously. Every nerve is singing and his whole body shudders as his cock pulsates in his hand, his come hitting the wall and sliding away down into the plug hole.

When he comes back to himself, he feels lighter. He tries to enjoy the sensation. He tries to ignore the twinge of guilt he feels knowing it was her he was thinking of. Her he wanted here with him, naked and pliant and wet and willing.

Later he’s in his dressing room, doing up the buttons of his shirt when Marion comes to find him.

She’s dressed in black silk trousers and a red silk blouse that plunges to reveal the outline of her cleavage. Round her neck and wrist she wears chunky gold and sparkling chains that jangle as she walks. Her hair is in a bouffant around her face, and she pins large earrings to her lobes, her long, manicured nails the colour of blood.

“Kylo, are you ready?”

“Almost.”

She finishes clipping her earring, steps towards him and fastens the last remaining buttons of his shirt. Her hands hover over his chest and she slides them up over his shoulders and then back down to the waistband of his dark chinos. His body tenses. He tries to fight it, hoping she won’t notice the way his body flinches away from her. When did that start, he thinks, this repulsion? Did he always feel it?

If she knows, she doesn’t care, she simply whispers, “Come on darling, time to go. Best behaviour.”

...

The party, the house, the food, the drinks, the music all are expensive and tasteful. But it’s dull, and he’s bored. He nods, responds to questions, agrees with Marion. His mind is somewhere else.

Hux is there with a new man on his arm. The man is young, handsome, Ben supposes, and charming. He holds the older women’s undivided attention. 

Hux catches Ben’s eye and they slide out into a sheltered courtyard.

Hux pulls out a cigarette and lights up. He offers one to Ben even though he knows he won’t accept.

“Whose the guy?” Ben asks.

“He’s quite something, right? Like a Greek God. And amazing in the sack.” Hux boasts. “Well worth the presents I’ve been plying him with.”

Ben nods.

“You’re particularly moody tonight, Kylo.”

“Am I?”

“Jealous, are we? Of the attention Anthony’s affording?”

“No.”

Hux takes a drag of his cigarette and eyes Ben.

“Of course, the other source of fascination tonight is a bit of gossip circulating in there.” He tilts his head in the direction of the party.

Ben says nothing. He doesn’t take a delight in the rumours that Hux finds entertaining.

“Care to know what it is?”

“Not really.”

Hux laughs. “It involves you.”

Ben’s eyes fly to him. “Me?”

“You. Seems you were spotted out on the Heath today with some young delight.”

Ben freezes.

Hux laughs again. “I always suspected you had your interests on the side but that you were very careful at being discreet. It seems you’ve got sloppy, Kylo.”

“It’s not like that.” He protests, an icy feeling of fear frisking up his spine.

“Sure. It never is.”

“She’s just an acquaintance I bumped into.”

Hux examines him and takes a final long drag on his cigarette before dropping it to the floor and grinding it with the toe of his shoe.

“That’s not what they’re saying inside.”

When they go back in, Ben knows immediately that Marion’s heard. On her face sits a steely smile, but her eyes are murderous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You really can see St Paul’s Cathedral from Hampstead Heath (which is over five miles north from the Cathedral). This is because it is one of thirteen protected views across London, meaning that you can't build anything that would block the view. 
> 
> The most impressive 'protected view' (in my opinion) is the one from Richmond Park in the South West of London to St Paul’s over 10 miles away. There is an especially maintained hole in a holly bush to keep the view clear!
> 
> Both parks are beautiful. Both views spectacular. 
> 
> Thanks again to my ever encouraging beta @MyJediLife


	6. St Paul's and the South Bank

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben can't stay away from Rey....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my favourite chapter! Full of fluff with a smattering of smut and an array of angst. I'm so excited to share it and I really hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Please check out this amazing moodboard that LeiaMyLabrador made for this fic. It is super cute and I could gush about it for paragraphs and paragraphs. I mean there's little Humphrey the stormtrooper hanging out with the kids, writing love letters to Marge and enjoying kisses! https://ibb.co/jvdG98v 
> 
> If the link doesn't work - and knowing my IT skills it won't - it'll be on my Twitter and Tumblr too. Come find me, I'm ReyloBrit.
> 
> Thank as always to the super, generous @MyJediLife for the Beta!
> 
> And also thanks for all the lovely comments!

Chapter 6 – St Paul’s and the South Bank

She’s busy. Busy with her latest sculpture. Busy with endless exhibitions, meetings and functions. Busy with summer barbecues, festivals and nights out.

She’s so busy she hardly notices that Ben’s gone quiet. Monosyllabic. His messages restrained in a way they hadn’t been before; like he’s holding back.

Yet despite the busyness, she notices. She wonders if this fragile friendship is over before it’s started; if it’s already withered away, if he’ll be there waiting for her outside the Tate.

...

The promise of summer made by a bright May has been broken by a wet June. The day they meet, the pavements shine with rain. The Thames and the sky mirror each other - grey and choppy.

Rey spots Ben on the centre of the Millennium Bridge, leaning his forearms against the barrier and looking out towards Tower Bridge.

The moody dramatic background suits him somehow.

He looks unworldly. His thick, dark hair fluttering around his face, and his strong shoulders and arms taut as he leans. He frowns slightly - as if he’s lost in thought.

She wasn’t sure he’d be here. He’s been quiet. Monosyllabic. His messages restrained in a way they hadn’t been before; like he’s holding back. She’d wondered if this fragile friendship had been over before it started; if it had already withered away.

But he’s there, and she’s not sure she’s ever seen anything so stunning. For a moment she feels afraid to approach.

Then he turns his head and spots her in the throng of people walking across the bridge. He stands straight and smiles at her.

“Hi.” She says as she reaches him, now most definitely full of nerves.

“Hi.” He replies in that deep, masculine voice of his. “You were right.”

“Was I?”

“About the view. It is really something.”

“Oh, it’s even better from Blackfriars bridge, because you can see all of this - but also up-river too, towards the London Eye and Parliament.” She points towards the bridge behind them. “But you need a rail ticket to get up there.”

“A rail ticket?”

“The bridge is a train station.”

“How was the Tate?” He asks.

“Great.” She smiles. “I found your paintings. They looked... good.”

“Good?” He squints towards her. “Good. Hang on a minute, Rey. Do you like my stuff?”

“It’s... I admire it.”

“You admire it.”

“You’re very talented.”

“Talented.”

“Yes.” She gulps.

“But do you like it?”

“I...I..." She steps away. “Shall we go over to St. Paul’s?”

“You don’t like it, do you?” His head is bent low so he can meet her eyes.

“Oh Ben!” She covers her face with her hands.

He laughs. It’s deep and rumbling, and makes her tingle despite her embarrassment.

“It’s fine, Rey. You don’t have to like my stuff.” He pulls her hands away from her face and meets her eyes again. “I’m not offended.” He chuckles.

“Well, you have a thicker skin than me. I can’t help feeling a little bit devastated whenever someone hates my work.”

“I doubt that ever happens.”

She bats him on the shoulder. “You ol’ charmer, you.”

They walk with the other tourists across the bridge, and up the steps to St. Paul’s. She leads him round to the front and they spend several moments admiring the grand looking building. He pays for them to go inside, and they meander around the high domed, dark space together, stopping at each painting and statue.

There are other couples there too, wandering around the cathedral. Most hold hands. One older women hangs on to the crook of her partners arm. Another younger man’s hand rests in the back pocket of his lover’s jeans.

They stand side by side. Almost touching - but not. And she wishes she could just reach out to him.

“Can we go up to the whispering gallery?” She asks

“Where’s that?”

“Up there.” They both look up into the huge circular roof of the cathedral. A balcony runs around the base where the walls begin to curve, and they can see little dots of moving people.

“Sure.”

On the climb up the several flights of steps, Rey stumbles, grabbing for the rail at the same time as Ben grabs for her waist, pulling her to him and steadying her.

His hands are beautiful in a way she never thought hands could be, and she feels the warmth of his palm through her shirt, resting just above her waist, his fingers curled round onto her stomach. A shot of pleasure plummets through her, and she can’t look at him when he asks:

“You ok?” His voice sounds a tad lower than normal, and she finds her own voice lost momentarily.

“Yes.”

His hand stays there, holding her as they make their way up the remaining steps, as if she’s incapable of standing upright - which maybe she is, her knees weak.

When they emerge into the dome, they’re greeted by a gang of school children running, screaming and waving their mobile phones.

He drops his arm.

“It’s a good view.” He says as two kids rattle past them.

“Oh no, that’s not why we’re here.”

He looks confused.

“Seriously? You’ve never heard about this place?”

“No, Rey.” She can tell he’s just a tiny bit frustrated, and she can’t help smiling at him.

“If you whisper into the wall, and someone else puts their ear against the wall too, they can hear what you whisper.”

“Hence the name.”

“Hence the name. But I’m not sure if it’s really true.”

“You’ve never tried?”

“This place is expensive. I’ve never had the money to visit before.”

The school children begin to file past them on their way out, followed by a couple of teachers who throw them apologetic glances.

“Great, they’ve gone. Let’s try, Ben.”

He nods.

“Ok, you stay here.” She manoeuvres him against the wall and skips away.

“Where are you going?” He calls.

“It only works if I’m on the opposite side of the dome.”

When she’s there, she calls back to him: “Ready?” He gives a little salute and rests his head against the wall.

She turns to the wall and whispers “Ben, can you hear me?”

“Yes Rey, I can.” She claps her hands in joy. His whisper sounds disembodied. It hums and vibrates - but it’s his.

“I can’t believe it works. I can hear you so clearly. Oh wait- don’t move.” She looks round towards him and can see him do the same. She motions for him to turn back, and trots a little way along the wall, before stopping and whispering again “Can you hear me now, Ben?” She waits a moment, but there’s no answer, and when she swivels he still has his ear to the wall.

She returns to her original position. “You couldn’t hear me?” She asks.

“Nope.”

“It’s amazing! Can’t you just imagine spies coming up here to swap secret messages?”

“Or clandestine lovers.”

“Tell me a secret then, Ben.”

“Nope, you first.”

“Hmmm.” She thinks. “Ok I...I....” She has an idea in the moment, but she’s not sure.

“Rey.” He whispers. “Tell me.” His voice is inviting, so tempting. Rich and deep.

“I have this friend.” She hesitates.

“A friend?”

“Yes. Sometimes at night I think about him and I....” Her voice wavers as she whispers. “I touch myself.”

There’s a pause, and she screws up her eyes.

“You touch yourself?” His voice is quieter.

“Yes.”

“Where? Where do you touch yourself, Rey?”

“Everywhere.”

“Your tits? Do you touch your tits?”

“Yes.”

“How, Rey? Tell me.”

“I start by stroking my hands all over my body, until I’m turned on and tingling.”

“Yes?”

“Then I lick my fingers, and I circle my nipples until they harden. I take them between my thumb and my forefingers, and I roll and squeeze.”

“How does that feel?”

“It makes me wet.”

“Where does it make you wet, baby?”

“Oh, you know where, Ben.”

There’s a deep chuckle.

“So, then I...I…“ She takes a deep breath in. She can feel her cheeks flushing, and it’s not purely from the embarrassment.

“You touch your pussy.” It’s like he couldn’t wait any longer for her to say it.

“Yes. I dip my fingers inside me, so that they’re coated in my wetness. Then I stroke around my clit, gently at first, until I feel it building and my legs are shaking and everything is throbbing, and then I come and my back is arching, and inside my walls are clenching -”

“How does it feel?” His voice has coarsened.

“Oh, so fucking good, but then I need more.”

“More?”

“Much more, it’s like this ache, this want to be filled. I plunge my fingers inside myself and I rub backwards and forwards, in and out, hitting that spot I can barely reach.”

“And what are you imagining as you fuck yourself?”

“I’m imagining what I want him to do to me. What I want to do to him!”

“What do you want him to do?”

“Everything!” She moans.

At that moment another group of school children erupts from the stairway, pouring into the gallery. The thud of their footsteps mixes with streaks and screams of laughter.

She stands, catching her breath. Her heart is racing, her cunt throbbing, and the blush has spread from her face to her neck and her chest. She bites her lip and turns to find him. He’s obscured by the teenagers rushing around, and then she’s jostled by several pushing past her. When she regains her balance and looks for him again, he’s gone.

She rests her head back against the wall, closes her eyes and breathes deeply. She just needs a moment.

A lumbering teen treads on her foot and brings her back to herself.

She shakes her head and blows out sharply. Then she walks slowly towards the exit and down the steps to the cathedral’s belly.

He’s waiting for her, leaning against a pillar. She hesitates, but makes her way to him.

They’ve crossed a line, and she’s not sure where the path leads now. She can’t bring herself to look at his face.

She stops before him, examining her feet.

“I need a drink.” He sighs. “Is that allowed on this tour?” There’s a hint of a smirk in his voice, and she raises her eyes cautiously to his. They’re tender.

“Sure.” She mutters.

She leads the way out, and it’s only as he follows that he says quietly:

“Whoever the friend is, he isn’t worthy of you, Rey.”

She leads him back over the bridge, past the Tate to the first pub they find on the south bank shore. He orders a double vodka and downs it immediately standing at the bar. She watches him. Then they both order cokes and find a table outside to sit down. They’re the only ones, the sky hanging above them like a lingering and dangerous threat. She can taste the building humidity on her tongue. A film of moisture forms on her top lip and her brow.

Although they don’t talk about what’s just happened, they don’t retreat back across the line either. It’s like her confession in the cathedral has granted him permission to touch her. It’s subtle. A hand on the small of her back as they weave through a group of tourists. An arm encasing her as she leans against the bar. His hand resting on her thigh as they sit at the table.

And although they’ve crossed one line, she knows there’s many more in front of them. It’s still undefinable. It could still be interpreted either way. Doesn’t she link arms with Finn sometimes? Doesn’t Rose stroke her face affectionately? Doesn’t Poe squeeze her hand when she’s nervous?

They drink in silence, and then they continue their walk. Under Blackfriars bridge, past the Oxo tower, along the Queen’s walk and the stretch where skateboarders and free runners gather, in front of the National Theatre and under Waterloo Bridge. Now they can see the London Eye and the Houses of Parliament. Big Ben winks at them from the other side of the river.

The crowds of tourists are much denser, all scuttling in differing currents like hoards of ants. Ben grabs her hand so they don’t lose one another, and the feel of it is secure and strong.

Along the river here, street performers busk and dance, and painted people stand frozen like statues. Scattered among them perch the odd portrait artists, an empty stall in front of them inviting a would be sitter.

“Let’s take a look.” Ben suggests, tugging her to a middle aged man sketching the faces of a young couple trying their best not to move and giggle. The artist’s actions are quick, his pencil stroking and shading the paper. He has the basic premise, but the eyes aren’t quite right.

Ben’s still holding her hand as they watch, then he looks at her and smiles.

“You any good at this?”

“Awful!” She lies. She spent one summer obsessed with sketching faces, and has a cupboard full of Finn’s portraits, her most willing sitter.

“You got any paper and pencils in your bag?”

“Of course. Who goes to an art gallery without a pad?”

“When I was being taught art they used to set us the five minute challenge. Each week it would be something different to sketch, sometimes still life, sometimes a person. Fancy that challenge now? I’ll draw you, you draw me?”

“Hmmm.” She ponders. “Five minutes?”

“Yep.”

“It’ll be awful.”

“It’ll be fun.”

He leads her to the wall running along the river bank. He hops up and motions for her to sit alongside him. He’s grinning like a Cheshire Cat. She’s never seen him look quite so relaxed, so happy. She leans on her arms and pulls herself up onto the wall, then retrieves paper and pencils from her bag.

He takes his phone out of his pocket. His thumb hovers over a five minute timer.

“Ready?” He asks.

“Ready.” She confirms, pencil in hand.

“Go!” He cries, his thumb slamming down. He drops the phone between them and grabs his own pencil.

He’s quick, she can see that, and she knows she’ll have to abandon her usual slow and steady style.

It’s strange allowing her eyes to roam so freely over his face. To have the permission and freedom to examine every curve, every crease, every contour. His skin is so smooth and pale. His full, bottom lip puckered slightly where he bites it in concentration. His dark eyebrows are dense and straight, sheltering his hooded eyes, ringed with those thick lashes.

For a moment she’s lost in just looking at him, her pencil floating above her pad.

“Two minutes, Rey!” He prompts her, not pausing from his own work but smiling when she jolts and exclaims:

“Oh.”

She scribbles away, impressed with how much she’s captured in such a short time. She attempts a glance at his paper, but he catches her and covers his work with his hand.

“No peeking.” He chides.

“Humph.” She sulks, sketching the dark locks that frame his face.

The timer blares: the theme tune that accompanies the baddie from some space film.

“Seriously?! That’s your ringtone?!”

“No, that’s my alarm. My ringtone is worse! You ready to swap?”

She shades one last shadow across his cheek, emphasising his bone structure.

“Hey.” He protests.

“Ok I’m done.”

He passes her his paper, and she passes him hers. She doesn’t look at his picture at first, choosing to observe his face as he examines her sketch.

His features alter from one of amusement to something softer. He swallows.

“Fuck, Rey. This is.” He pauses, searching for the word. “Remarkable.”

He looks up at her, wonder in his eyes. She smiles, pleased to have pleased him.

“You’d better give mine back.” He says, reaching towards his own picture.

“No way!” She insists, twisting away from him and peering at the sketch with her back turned.

Ben’s drawn her as a cartoon. Her eyes are huge and sparkling, as is her smile. Her jaw is all angular and her cheek bones jut out. It’s cute, really cute. And not what she was expecting at all.

“Now I’m embarrassed.” He says, pouting.

“Poor baby.” She says, grinning. “I love it, though. Will you sign it for me?”

“You’re winding me up!”

“I’m not. it’s adorable! Please sign it for me!”

“Only if you sign yours.”

They swap papers.

“How did you learn to draw like that?” She asks as she scribbles her signature.

“I used to draw cartoons all the time as a kid. That’s why they sent me to the art therapy.”

He hands her picture back. She looks at it again. Along the side he’s written in beautiful flowing and loopy handwriting, “To beautiful Rey, who outshines the sun. KR”

Her eyes flit to his, and he holds her gaze.

“Now who’s teasing who?” Her voice trembles.

He leans towards her, his eyes not leaving hers. “I mean it, Rey.”

“You’re Kylo Ren!” A smartly dressed middle aged man shouts at them, his phone held aloft as he snaps away.

Ben jerks towards him, his temple slamming down into a frown.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” He shouts at the man, jumping down from the wall and striding towards him.

“Oh, I...I... love your work.” The man flusters. He’s skinny and half the height of Ben. His glasses visibly tremble on the bridge of his nose.

“I said what the fuck do you think you’re doing? You can’t just take a photo of me without my permission.”

“I’m awfully sorry.”

Rey drops down from the wall. She’s shaking.

“Ben!” She cries. “Ben. Calm down.”

He spins to face her. His eyes are black, the muscles in his arms and shoulders flexed and his jaw taut.

She takes a step back.

“Stay the fuck out of this, Rey!”

“What?!” She says in shock.

The man is still there behind Ben, bumbling an apology, holding up his phone to demonstrate he’s deleting the photos.

“If he posts that! If she sees that photo!” Ben snaps.

She scrambles for her things on the wall and backs away.

“Where are you going?” He demands.

The man is all in Ben’s space now, trying to show him his phone.

Ben shoves him. “Fuck off!”

Rey hurries away, but he chases her down, grabbing her wrist.

“Let go, Ben.” She screams, and he drops her arm immediately. “I don’t understand.” She says, the tears pooling in her eyes. “We’re just friends. Why does it matter? We haven’t done anything wrong!”

“Are we? Haven’t we?” He snarls back angrily.

She tosses her head. “I can’t be with someone like this!”

“Like what?”

“This - this angry Ben. I’ve had my fair share of anger - not anymore.”

“Rey, can we just talk somewhere private?” He pleads, eyeing the people that have stopped to watch the couple arguing.

“No, Ben.”

“Fine! Fine!” He trails his hand over his face, trying to calm down. “If she sees that photo, Rey, it’s over for me!” He swipes his arms across his body emphasising his words. “She will destroy me.”

“Why are you with her, Ben? She has blood on her hands. How can you live in that house knowing the money that paid for it is tainted?”

“You think you can change me? You think you can save me? Is this what this is?” He shakes his head. She can see the anger building in him again as he clenches his fists, and she instinctively takes another step back. “It was never about me, was it? Just the allure of saving some little lost soul!”

“I don’t want to save you.” She hisses. “I’ve spent my life barely surviving, fighting for everything I have. I don’t need that weight around my neck.”

“Then what?” He challenges.

“I’m not here because I want to save you, Ben. I’m here because I thought you wanted to save yourself.” Her eyes rove over his furious face. “But now I see I was wrong.”

She turns and strides away.

“Rey, wait.” He yells.

“Goodbye, Ben.” She mutters, disappearing into the crowd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Ben! You plonker!
> 
> Confession: I haven't been up into the Whispering Gallery at St Paul's since I was a child. In my memory, this is how the whispering dynamics work and it fitted for the story. So please forgive the artistic licence. The whispering walls may not work in quite the way depicted.
> 
> The South Bank is probably my favourite place in London even though it is super touristy and often very busy. The views are incredible and it's so nice to stroll along the river without any traffic. In fact I've even walked this in the dead of Winter starting at the Shard, along the river to Waterloo, then across and up passed Embankment, through Trafalgar's Square to Covent Garden. London is a great city to wander round so ditch the tube - it's hot and sweaty anyway!
> 
> And Blackfriars Train station is genius. I often have to catch the train from the North to the South of London and always look up from my book or my phone when we pull into this station.
> 
> (If anyone knows how to insert images, please let me know - I would love to paste in the moodboard!)


	7. After the fall - Rey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey is hurting after her fall out with Ben

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to the amazing LeiaMyLabrador who has truly spoiled me by making another beautiful moodboard for this fic. And who also sent me a tutorial ... I have finally, successfully embedded an image! Woo hoo!
> 
> Thanks also to the super duper @MyJediLife for the beta and for answering all my non-stop, stupid questions 
> 
> Note a trigger warning for this chapter - shows the use of alcohol to mask emotional pain

The sky flashes and crashes above her, and fat raindrops tumble from the sky as Rey emerges from the underground. She doesn’t care. She stands, allowing the water to pummel and beat her, hoping it will wash away the day.

Water is cascading down the pavement and the road, gathering in large pools, lashed by cars that send it smashing into the sky in waves.

She wades through, already soaked, heading for the corner shop.

She needs alcohol. She doesn’t keep any in the house - because Rey doesn’t drink. She doesn’t drink because it’s so easy to embrace the numbing of it. Drink is a dangerous seducer, tempting her with promises of forgetting.

Tonight she doesn’t care. Tonight she wants to erase. Tonight she wants to stop the pain in her chest that’s choking her. Tonight she wants to sleep.

She buys a bottle of gin and a bottle of tonic, though she won’t be touching the mixer.

Tomorrow she knows it will only be worse. Tomorrow, she’ll hate herself for this. She’ll hate herself for the weakness of opening herself up, for feeling, for trusting. And tomorrow she’ll hate herself more for the drinking.

She arrives home to her little one-bed flat. It’s owned by the Resistance, and she rents it for a pittance.

Peeling off her wet clothes, she finds a glass and climbs into bed, hugging the gin bottle tightly.

She pours herself a large glass and sips at the gin. At first it burns her mouth and throat, but quickly the alcohol warms her gullet and her stomach, the strength of it radiating across her body. She leans back against her pillows and sips again and again. She hasn’t eaten since lunch, and the liquor hits her head immediately. She feels light and dazed, and the room spins. She finds her phone in between sips and pours herself another glass before she looks at the screen.

Three missed calls, a voicemail and a long text. All from Ben.

Rey takes a large gulp and tosses her phone away.

At some point she drifts asleep, waking to find her glass in her hand. She dredges the remains, switches the light off and tries to return to sleep. The rain hammers at the window begging to be let in, and in her half-dazed state, she thinks it’s Ben demanding she see him, calling her name.

Later, she gets up to vomit and drinks two large glasses of water by the sink. Then she crawls back to her bed, her head pounding and her limbs aching.

....

Her phone is ringing somewhere near her head. The noise pierces her skull and abuses her brain. She drags the sheet over her head and tries to ignore it. After a moment it stops, pauses, and then starts ringing again. She swears and scrabbles around until she finds it on the floor by her bed.

It’s Finn.

“Hi,” she groans into her phone, lying back down onto her back. All the movement has set off a wave of nausea, and she screws up her eyes and rubs her temples with her free knuckles.

“Rey! Are you ok? Where are you?”

“In bed.”

“You were meant to meet us half an hour ago for brunch.” He sounds like a mixture of annoyance and concern. “Are you sick?” Rey is usually up by 8 - and it’s 10.30.

“No.” Talking is making her feel sick.

“You sound rough, Sunshine. Have you... have you been drinking?”

She can hear Rose’s concerned words in the background, and a muffled reply from Finn. She could lie - but what’s the point?

“Yes,” she answers.

“Shit!” More muffled words. “Right, we’re coming over.”

“No!” She protests feebly.

“Yes!” He responds sternly. “Make sure you’ve got some clothes on, Rey.”

“Urgh,”’ is all she can say in response. She scrambles around among the dirty laundry on the floor and finds a large t-shirt to pull over her head. Then she climbs back into her bed and falls asleep.

She’s not sure how much time has passed when she hears the scrape of her front door as it opens and Rose and Finn creep in. Her head is still pounding and she groans, hugging the sheet tightly around her.

The bed bounces as Finn comes to sit on the edge.

“Alright, Sunshine?”

“Urgh Finn shhh. Not so loud.”

He spots the gin bottle at the bottom of her bed and holds it up. There’s about a quarter left.

“You drink all that last night?”

“Yep.”

“Have you been sick, Rey?”

“Yes, in the night.”

“Shit, Rey. You could’ve choked in your sleep.” He rests his palm on her shoulder. “What happened, Rey? Why didn’t you call me?”

Rose appears with a large glass of water in her hand. She holds it out to Rey.

“I don’t think I can drink that,” Rey groans.

“Yes, you can.” Finn says, offering his hand and pulling her up to sitting. 

Rey takes the water. Her hands are shaking as she sips at the cold water.

“Take some of these, too,” Rose says gently, passing over a packet of paracetamol. She takes the bottle of gin from Finn with a concerned look and disappears into the kitchenette.

“We’ve got bacon and eggs and the kettles on. Why don’t you go get showered and then we’ll talk about it?” Finn says, standing up.

She nods, although the movement hurts her head.

“I’m sorry I missed brunch.”

“Don’t worry about it, Rey. I’m just....concerned about you.”

“I had a shitty day.”

He nods and engulfs her in a hug.

“Woah Rey!” He says, pushing her away. “You stink! Get in the shower, I’m gonna help Rose.”

The glass of water, the pain killers and the shower all help. She feels half human by the time she tugs on clean underwear, some shorts and a t-shirt.

Not looking forward to the grilling she knows she’s going to get, she hesitates before stepping out of her bedroom. She knows it’s going to be painful talking about it. But she also knows she’ll feel better once she has.

Rose and Finn perch around her small kitchen table drinking coffee and eating toast. There’s a plate waiting for her, piled high, and a steaming mug of tea.

She slides into her seat.

“Thanks guys. This looks amazing,” she smiles sheepishly.

Rose and Finn let Rey eat, chatting to her about the gig they went to the night before.

When she’s down to mopping up the spilled egg yolk with her toast, Rose says; “I thought you didn’t drink, Rey.”

“I don’t,” she answers with a mouth full of bread.

Rose looks confused and turns to Finn for clarification.

“Once - when we were teenagers, Rey got so shitfaced I had to take her to A and E to get her stomach pumped.”

“Eugh,” Rose wrinkles up her nose.

“Yep,” Rey confirms. “It was grim. I stopped drinking after that. Plus, I don’t really like the feeling of not being in control. But sometimes, you know, sometimes it happens.” She shrugs.

“Like hardly ever,” Finn protests. “Maybe twice before. Once, when she was drinking what she thought was mocktails.”

Rey sticks her tongue out at him.

“And once when some guy tried to mug us.”

“Shit. That sounds scary.”

Finn laughs. “Rey scared the dude away - she tried to whack him round the head with a stick. We were lucky he didn’t have a knife.”

There have been a couple of other times, too; times Finn doesn’t know about. When the sadness engulfed her and she remembered the fear and the loneliness and the angry voices. 

“Hmmm,” Rey trails her fork over her empty plate.

“You should’ve called us, Rey, if you felt so bad.” 

“I didn’t want to ruin your night out.”

“It was just some shitty gig, Rey.” Finn says. 

“Really shitty,” Rose smiles, rolling her eyes. “But even if it was Beyoncé, we’d’ve come.”

“Beyoncé?! Really?!” Rey smiles.

“Yep.” They both answer together.

Hopping off her chair, Rose trots around to hug Rey and then smack a big kiss on her cheek.

“We love you, Rey,” Rose says, squeezing her.

“I love you guys, too!”

“So, you gonna tell us what happened yesterday then?” Rose asks kindly, moving back to her own seat.

Sighing, Rey leans back in her chair.

“You know that guy?”

Rose and Finn stare at her blankly.

“Erm, the one you were texting?” Rose asks, unsure.

Rey nods.

“I thought that had fizzled out?” Finn says.

Rey shrugs. “We met up yesterday.”

“And?”

“At first it was really, really good.” She swallows. “But then he got angry.”

“Angry? Did he hurt you? Did he threaten you?” Finn suddenly sits up straighter, his voice protective.

“No, nothing like that. He got cross at some other guy, and then we had this big fight.”

“Everybody fights, Rey, and everybody gets cross sometimes. I’m sure you can make up,” Rose tries to reassure her.

Rey shakes her head. “No, it’s way more complicated than that. He’s this famous artist-”

“Famous?” Rose interrupts. “Who?” 

Finn is already pulling his phone out of his pocket.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Rey!” Rose says.

“His name is Kylo Ren - although that’s like a stage name.”

“Kylo Ren?” Finn gasps. “Isn’t that the guy you’re always slagging off?”

“Yes, but he’s different in the flesh.”

“How?” Rose asks.

“Well, much hotter.” She flushes.

Rose giggles. “Ooo give me that phone, Finn. I need to see.”

“Why’d he get angry with some dude?” Finn asks, surrendering his phone to Rose’s eager hands.

“He was trying to take his photo.”

“Right.”

“Woah!” Rose says. “Rey, he is seriously, well... those arms and that chest!’

“Hey!” Finn yells.

“Sorry.” Rose giggles. “Have you seen that chest, Rey? How did you keep this a secret?”

“No, no. It’s not like that, I mean, maybe things were beginning to move that way, but now - we haven’t even kissed!”

“Why not? You like him?”

Rey nods shyly, biting her lip.

“And he likes you?”

“I mean, I think so.”

“Rey, you’re beautiful - of course he likes you!” Rose tuts. “So what’s the issue?”

Rey pushes her plate away, folds her arms on the table and plants her head down. “You’re not going to like it.”

“We’re your friends, Rey. And anyway - it doesn’t matter if we like it or not. It’s your life.” Finn says, placing his hand on Rey’s shoulder.

“He’s in a relationship,” she mutters.

“Oh.” They say together.

“Is he married?” Rose asks, obviously trying to keep her voice neutral.

“No - but they’ve been living together for a long time. She’s this older, sophisticated woman with a lot of money. I think they have a very nice lifestyle together. But, I don’t know, I don’t think he’s happy.”

Rose stands up and starts busying herself collecting up plates and cutlery.

“My sister was seeing a married man while she was at college. He pretty much funded her way through school - paid her rent and gave her pocket money. She was completely in to him, and really thought he’d leave his wife. He never did, although he kept saying he would. She was always sneaking around having to meet him at the drop of the hat. She regrets it now, because she feels like she missed out on college life and it stopped her meeting other men.”

“If it’s what Rey wants, Rose,” Finn throws her a look.

“Oh yeah, I know.” Rose says, flushing and heading towards the sink. “I’m not judging. But if it is what you want, go in with your eyes open. These guys rarely wanna throw away their comfortable lives or make themselves poorer.”

“More to the point,” Finn interrupts. “You do know you deserve someone who's 100% in to you and there for you, right, Sunshine? You shouldn’t have to share.”

“You’re all talking like I’m having some kind of affair!” Rey protests, lifting her head. “There is no relationship. He’s never gonna leave her - he made that clear- and so I’m not interested.”

“He actually said that? Wow!” Rose says.

“Not in so many words, but ....” She trails off. “I just feel really stupid, but at the same time, really sad, too.”

“Let’s do something fun today, then.” Finn says. “What do you fancy?”

“I don’t know, Finn. I just feel like curling up and watching shitty TV.’

“How about taking that gorgeous dog, BeeBee, for a walk?’ Rose says.

“Oh yes!” Finn agrees. “It’s actually sorta sunny outside for the first time in ages.”

Rey shakes her head.

“Oh come on - you love that dog!”

“I do.” Rey agrees.

“It’s impossible to stay miserable with a dog around, that’s why they use them for therapy. Where’s your phone?”

“Somewhere in my room.”

Finn heads off to find it.

“Better not have to wade through your dirty underwear, Sanders!”

“Poe is really cute.” Rose points out. “And very friendly.”

“He’s also very gay.”

“Goddamn it!” Rose says. “The hot ones always are.”

“I heard that!” Finn calls from the bedroom.

....

An hour later they meet Poe and BeeBee in Wandsworth Common. Finn is right, and as soon as that little dog jumps up to greet her, his tail wagging furiously, she feels better. 

The two girls stroll ahead with the boys behind, BeeBee galloping between the two groups checking nobody’s been lost. He seems to sense Rey’s sadness, and as if to reassure himself it’s not his fault, nuzzles her hand and winds himself around her legs.

Halfway around the park, Finn comes to wrap his arm around Rose’s shoulder and Rey falls back to walk with Poe.

“So, you’re having some man trouble, I hear?” Poe says.

“Oh my gosh! Finn is the biggest gossip ever!”

“I think he’s just worried about you.”

“No trust me - that man loves to gossip.”

“He told me who the guy is. Kylo Ren, huh?” Poe’s nostrils flare as he says the name.

“Right. Well, I really wish he hadn’t done that, because nothing is happening. And I don’t want rumours flying round.”

“It’s just a crush?”

“Urgh I guess? But that makes me sound like I’m about thirteen.”

“You ever been in a serious long term relationship, Rey?”

“That’s kinda a personal question, Poe. Have _you_?”

“Only with BeeBee.” Rey laughs. “But seriously - I’ve never been that interested. I’ve been having too much fun.” Poe says.

“Being a player?” Rey teases.

Poe ignores her. “But now I’m getting older, I’m starting to think I wouldn’t mind finding a guy I could settle down with, watch movies, cook together, wake up together, take BeeBee for walks. Maybe even have a kid one day.”

“Wow.”

“London can be kinda lonely though, can’t it?”

“I’ve always lived here. But yes, being on your own can be lonely.”

They pause the conversation for a moment to watch Finn rolling around on the ground, BeeBee jumping all over him and Rose laughing so hard tears stream down her cheeks.

“It’d like to have what they have,” Rey observes. “And no, I’ve never had that before - just the odd fling here and there. Not for ages, though.”

“Did you and Finn ever….”

“God no! He’s like the nearest thing I have to a brother.”

“So, you think this thing with Ren has potential?”

“No. It’s over.” She tries to sound resolute, but her voice catches in her throat.

“I can’t say I’m unhappy by that, Rey. He’s not a nice guy.”

“He is when you get to know him.”

“No, Rey. I bump into him all the time and I’ve worked for his mum for 5 years. I’m telling you, he’s an arrogant arsehole and a nasty piece of work.”

“I know he fell out with his family. He told me about it.”

“Did he tell you about his dad - Han?”

She stops walking and thinks. Poe halts in front of her.

“No.”

“Han had this heart condition. Kylo was doing all sorts of dodgy shit. Leia’s never gone into the specifics, but I think he’s lucky he’s not in jail. There was this huge family row, and Kylo got all up in Han’s face. Han ended up having this massive heart attack and died. It was Kylo’s fault. He knew his dad was ill.”

She shakes her head. “No, Poe, he was just a kid.”

Poe’s tone softens. “Kylo never even turned up to the funeral. Leia hasn’t seen him since. You’re better off staying as far away from that guy as you can. He’s bad news!”

Rey turns her head and looks out across the park.

“I appreciate your concern, Poe. But you know I can look after myself - I always have.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback and comments always very welcome. 
> 
> You can find me on Twitter and Tumblr - I'm ReyloBrit


	8. After the fall - Ben

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben is also suffering and reaches out to an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to the wonderful MyJediLife for the beta

Chapter 8 After the fall - Ben

Pain radiates along Ben’s fingers through his wrist, up his arm, and seers his head. Blood is smeared across his knuckles and the punch bag. His hair sticks slick to his forehead and the nape of his neck, and sweat trickles down his front, dampening his t-shirt.

He tries to wriggle his fingers and the pain shoots through his body, bending him over double.

He knows he’s messed up his hand - the one he paints with. Marion will think he did it deliberately.

He wants to call Rey - and the pure need of it scares him more than he can bear. He can see her face, full of hurt and bewilderment, in front of him now - and realises she will never answer a call from him again. Exile: that will come next. Just as it was with his family.

He examines his injured hand. He should call for the driver and travel down to the private clinic on Harley Street.

Instead, Ben heads out into the dark and takes a long walk through the Heath. It’s not as empty as he expected. There’s people rustling around in the bushes, teenagers hanging about in groups drinking, the odd hooded guy asking him if he wants to buy anything. He should feel vulnerable, especially as he won’t be able to hit anyone who starts on him, but he knows with his height and his frame he’ll be left alone.

The darkness vanishes, stripped away by the harsh lights of the National Health Service Hospital as he heads down hill and out into the streets again. You’d hardly think it late here. People are coming and going; visitors, staff, deliveries. Smokers in hospital gowns lean against walls puffing away, and ambulances queue to be let in.

He strides through the automatic doors, and follows the signs to the Accident and Emergency Department. He’s never been in a public hospital before, and the stark lighting and industrial decor shock him. For a place where life starts and ends, there’s no soul - and no comfort.

The corridors meander maze like, and he’s forced to double back twice before emerging into the packed waiting room. He queues behind three others, waiting to talk to some kid behind a desk. The room heaves, nearly every seat taken. There are people with ice packs or sick bags, or struggling to stay conscious. Several men hunch over with gashes on their faces, blood congealing on their noses and cheeks or pouring from their mouths. A little girl wheezes, her mother seemingly unbothered as she scrolls on her phone. Some frailer older people sweep their fading eyes across the room, tired and confused. And there are several patients who look like they simply came here for something to do on a Friday night.

The kid takes his name, date of birth and a brief description of his ailment. He tells him the wait will be at least four hours and dismisses him, never making eye contact.

Despite the nausea churning his stomach, he knows he should eat but the ancient looking vending machine is currently being abused by a man swearing in Italian and thumping its sides. He gives up the idea and finds a free plastic chair beside the asthmatic girl. It’s small and hard, and there’s hardly any room for his legs. But he folds himself into it, trying his best not to crowd the child struggling for breath. He’d like to cross his arms, huddle in on himself, lower his chin to his chest and close his eyes, but his hand is too painful. He rests it gingerly on his knee and notices the little girl examining it before edging away.

Three hours later, the waiting room has emptied, the most seriously ill patients whisked away long ago, and those with minor, or imagined, problems grown bored and departed. It’s 3am when a nurse calls his name and beckons for him to follow him to a small plastic cubicle behind an electric blue curtain. 

He motions for Ben to sit on the bed, before closing the curtain with a violent jerk.

“Hi,” he says on autopilot. “My name is Temmin, but you can call me Snap. I’m a nurse here at the emergency department. Apologies for the wait; as you can see, we’re very busy tonight.” He looks down at the folder he holds in his hands. “You’ve hurt your hand?”

“Yes.”

“Right. This one?” He asks, pointing to the injured hand Ben cradles in the other. He takes it gently in his own and Ben whines with the pain.

“Yep, that looks broken to me. You’re going to need an X-ray, which will mean a bit more of a wait. Let’s get these grazes cleaned up in the meantime.”

“Thanks.”

“I’ll be right back.” He disappears behind the curtain, and Ben lies back on the bed, his feet dangling off the edge, suddenly overwhelmed with tiredness.

“Hello? Mr. Solo?”

Ben opens his eyes. The nurse has returned.

He sits back up. “It’s Ben,” he tells him.

“Ok Ben. I’ve ordered the X-ray - 20 minutes - not too bad. Have you taken anything for the pain?” He asks, turning away and snapping on a pair of rubber gloves.

“No.”

“I can give you some paracetamol.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll live.”

The nurse smiles and takes Ben’s hand, carefully wiping the grazes with a sodden cotton wool bud.

“Did you hit something, Ben?”

“Yes.”

“Deliberately?”

“Yes. I was punching my bag - my punch bag.”

“Ahhh. Must have been a pretty hard smack to do this to your hand.”

“I guess so. I was feeling pretty cross.”

“I used to do that: go hit something when I got mad. My Dad used to say it would help me feel better. But it never worked. It always seemed to pump me up; make it worse.”

Ben says nothing.

“You ever try anything else?’ Snap asks. “To help with the anger, Ben?”

He shakes his head, wincing as the sharp alcohol sinks into his grazed skin.

“They’re doing this thing here at the hospital to help us staff feel less stressed. You know ‘wellbeing’ and all that - trying to reduce the number of sick days we take.” Snap’s eyes stay focused on Ben’s hand as he talks. “Anyway, I thought it was all a load of bullshit, but our matron made us go along to a few sessions on mindfulness and meditation. I don’t know man, that stuff seems to work.” He grins as he wipes the last bit of blood from Ben’s hand. “You should look into it.”

“My Uncle is a hippy. He was always trying to get me to meditate as a kid.”

“There you go! That’s what I mean. Those hippies are chilled, right?”

“That may be the drugs.”

Snap laughs, a deep rumbling noise. “Yeah. I’m not advocating that, Ben. Half the drunks and addicts out there in the waiting room are self medicating; trying to control their mental health issues. Don’t do drugs - try the mindfulness.” He grins again. “Ok, let’s get you to X-ray.”

...

When Ben wakes late the next morning and heads downstairs, he finds Marion at home. 

She calls out to him, and he hesitates outside the door of her study, taking a deep breath before he enters.

The room is painted in deep reds, with a dark mahogany desk in the centre and two of his paintings hanging on the wall behind. Marion perches on a large, leather recliner like a queen on her throne, waiting to receive her subject.

When he creeps in, she doesn’t look up from her sleek looking laptop; papers and two mobile phones spread before her.

“Did you hit someone?” She asks, her gaze fixed on her screen as she taps away.

“No.” He responds, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

Slowly, she lifts her head and fixes him with a hard stare.

“Are you sure? Is there a mess I need to clear up, Kylo? Have I got another big lawyer’s bill coming my way?”

“No, I just punched my bag too hard. Nothing like that has happened for a long time, Marion,” he insists. 

She scoffs and her eyes narrow. “But we both know that lately you’ve been rather _unstable_.” She lingers on the last word.

His pulse quickens. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” He mumbles, eyes anchored to the ground.

“Since your little infatuation with that girl,” she snarls.

He swallows. “It was nothing, she means nothing to me.” The words ring hollow in his ears.

“As if anyone like that could want you, Kylo. You’re a creature of the dark. You belong in the shadows.”

He can feel her eyes boring into him and then return to her work.

“Get out Kylo.” She commands. “I’m busy.”

A week later, Marion gives an interview in a Sunday magazine trashing the art of an up- and- coming young sculptor. Ben goes online and adds a comment under the name of Humphrey. He points out all the reasons why Marion is wrong. He hopes Rey will see it.

...

After that, the changes happen gradually. There’s no sudden, dramatic overhaul. There’s little things; slow and creeping.

Ben finds the article that Rey had found months earlier. He subscribes to the newspaper and scans it every day.

He bins the punchbag and downloads a podcast on anger management. He listens to music and reads novels.He explores London, walking the streets and visiting the galleries and museums he’s never seen.

At the dinner parties he pays attention, asks questions, voices opinions (despite the warning looks Marion throws him).

He wants to tell Rey about it - he needs to tell someone and who else is there? - so he starts to write her notes, a simple line or two in his inks and his sweeping hand. He tucks them into envelopes and sends them through the post. They’re private, between only them. Noone can trace or monitor or hack them. Although he doubts she reads them, giving them to her, recording this change that’s happening in him, it’s grounding. It makes it more real and more permanent.

The summer passes. They visit the Caribbean and he spends his days in the water, chasing the fish, riding the waves, away from Marion.

And then it’s Autumn. The light shifts from white and blazing to yellow and melting. The air chills and the leaves fade to reds and oranges and carpet the Heath, creating a satisfying crunch as he runs.

He thinks about calling his mother - but he’s terrified of how it will go. Instead he reaches out to Chewie, his father’s oldest friend.

….

They meet at an airport hotel; Chewie’s passing through on his way from Southeast Asia to the States.

As a kid, Chewie reminded Ben of a bear. He was a man of little words, choosing to grunt his way through life, and he towered over everyone, with a bushy head of hair and fuzz that covered his face, chest and limbs. 

But now when Ben sees him, standing in the hotel lobby with his hefty backpack resting against his legs, straight backed; he decides that he looks like the Viking that he is. 

When he speaks, he has the same thick Danish accent he’s always had; despite the years spent in the US and exploring the world.

“Good to see you Ben, man!” He growls, wrapping Ben up in a hug and slapping him on the back. He releases him but takes his face in his hands, his eyes thirstily exploring his features. “It’s been too long.”

Ben doesn’t move. He’s not sure what he’d expected - but it wasn’t this. Maybe bitterness or blame; not warmth, not love. He swallows.

“Good to see you too, Chewie. Let’s get a drink.”

“Just a water for me, Ben,” Chewie says, as they stroll towards the windowless bar.

Ben raises an eyebrow.

“I’m sixty-five now, man. And I’ve gotta do an eight hour flight. I don’t wanna be getting up every five minutes to take a piss.”

Ben looks at him a little harder, at the hair now speckled with grey and thinning at the temples, at the lines cross crossing his face and the hint of a limp. Chewie seemed immortal to him. Someone who’d never age.

“Old age happens to us all,” Chewie grins, as if reading Ben’s thoughts. “I’m going back to New York to get my hip replaced.”

“Shit.”

“It’s fine.”

Ben orders an espresso and Chewie a mineral water and they perch on bar stools.

Chewie takes a swig from the glass bottle of water, ignoring the glass the barman had given him. He wipes his hand across his mouth.

“You hear that Luke’s sick - cancer.”

Ben shakes his head and fiddles with the handle of his cup. They sit in silence until finally Chewie asks; “What is it, man?”

Ben lifts his cup and exhales loudly, then throws back the shot of coffee. Chewie examines his face.

“You in trouble?”

“Yes and no.”

“What is it? Debt? Gambling?”

Ben shakes his head.

“Drugs?”

He shakes his head again.

“In trouble with the law?”

Ben runs his hand over his face.

“You’re gonna have to help me out here, man?”

“I’m screwed.”

Chewie rests his large paw like hand on Ben’s shoulder. ‘You’re some big shot in the art world now, aren’t you? Changed your name, making a fortune?”

“I’ve been stupid with the money.”

“Money’s not important. You’ll make more. You’ve got talent, that Skywalker talent. And you’ve got your mother's wit and your father's heart - you’ll be fine.” He squeezes Ben's shoulder.

“If I leave....I’m going to lose it all.”

“You happy, Ben?”

Ben looks up into Chewie’s face. Happiness? It’s not something he’s considered, he didn’t think it mattered.

“No, I don’t think I am.”

“You should call your Mum. She misses you.”

“She hates me,” he snaps.

“No, Ben - she loves you.”

“She blames me for Dad.” He drops his gaze back to the bar, he can’t look Chewie in the eye.

“We all did, Ben.” Chewie’s always been brutally honest. “But it was the grief and the shock. We were wrong. It was nobody’s fault.” He squeezes his shoulder once more. “I’m sorry.”

Ben takes a deep breath in, steadying himself. Nods.

“You blame yourself,” Chewie says, as if the thought has just occurred to him. “You deserve to be happy, Ben. And so does your Mum. Call her.” He picks the cap off the bar and screws it back onto the top of his water.

“I gotta go man - my flight. I’m sorry we couldn’t talk for longer.” He stands and hoists his bag onto his shoulder. He touches Ben’s shoulder again. “I miss your Dad more than someone like me has the words to express. But seeing you, Ben, it’s the next best thing. Let’s do this again soon.”

Ben reaches across and rests his hand on Chewie’s. But he can’t look at him, he can feel something stirring in his chest, a sob catching in his throat.

“Let’s.” He answers, his voice wavering.

He hears Chewie turn and his footsteps fade away. He can’t watch him go. The pain is too great.

Ben sits at the bar fighting back tears.

What the fuck has happened to him? It’s like Rey swung a sword and severed him in two, spilling out everything secret inside. He looks down and thinks he sees his guts tumbling out onto the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only two more chapters to go! You know that means the next one’s going to be a biggie, right?
> 
> Any comments or kudos greatly received! It really is what keeps us writers motivated. It can be pretty terrifying sticking your work out there for all to read!
> 
> [A note on the hospital scene: please don’t interpret this as me NHS-bashing. I thank my lucky stars every single day that we have this wonderful service in our country. The NHS has been there when I, or my family, have needed it on numerous, numerous occasions. But with tight budgets and workforce shortages, it’s a tough place to work. Snap is my tribute to those dedicated healthcare workers delivering amazing care despite the challenging circumstances. If you are one of them - thank you!]


	9. La Petite Mort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben receives an unexpected, late-night visitor.......I wonder who it could be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to MyJediLife as always for her kindness and for the beta!
> 
> And thank you all for the lovely comments and kudos.

The buzzer wakes Ben with a start as he’s dozing on the sofa.

He rubs his hands over his face and peers at his watch. 

There is no good reason someone would be ringing the gate at this late hour. He decides he’ll ignore it.

But whoever it is leans heavily on the buzzer again.

He reasons he’d better answer it; in case it’s somebody scoping out the house.

He pulls himself up and lumbers to the hallway, yawning loudly.

It’s dark outside, but the security light illuminates the caller on a little video screen when he presses the connection. The visitor is small and slight. It could be a woman, not a man. Maybe a druggie begging for cash. Their face is turned away from the camera.

“Yes. What is it?” He barks.

“Ben?” The woman answers. He flinches. Too startled to answer, believing he must be dreaming still. “Ben? Is that you?”

Her chin tilts upwards and her features fill the screen. It is her.

“Rey?” He gasps. “Are you ok?” Even with the fuzziness of the display, he can see mascara smeared around her eyes and running down her cheeks. “Rey, what’s happened?”

“I got your notes.” She pauses, and he’s too terrified to speak. “I kept waiting for the one to say you’d left. But you’re still here.”

He swallows. “I’m still here.”

“She’s away, though - I read she’s away.”

“Yes.” Silence. Thoughts scatter through his mind, and he struggles to pin one down. Although she can’t see him, it seems as if she’s staring right at him through the screen. Her eyes are sad and scared. He thought her fearless. “Do you want to come in, Rey?”

She nods. And he thinks he sees a fresh tear skate down her cheek; leaving another track of black.

He presses the button to open the gates and scurries out of the front door and down the driveway.

The gate crawls back with a rattle. It takes an eternity; the solid wood disappearing to reveal the empty street - and Rey.

She stands with a helmet hooked under an arm and her motorbike propped up beside her.

“Come in,” he tells her. “And bring your bike. It’ll get stolen out there.”

She kicks up the stand, hangs her helmet over the handlebars and wheels her bike into the wide drive. She stops just inside the gate, shifting the bike to the edge of the path and resting it there as if she’s unsure how far inside she should come. Behind her, the gate rolls closed, blocking off the outside world once more.

Her hands dangle by her sides as her eyes fix on the ground between them. 

“What happened?” He mirrors her, watching.

“I’m sorry. I know we’re not...” Her nose wrinkles. “But I wanted to see you.” She steals a glance at his face.

Anxiety churns in his stomach. This isn’t going to go the way he imagines. Hope will only lead to disappointment.

Her gaze falls back to the ground. “I remembered. I remembered the name of the school. The school I was at when I lived with my parents.” He doesn’t understand. “Everything had changed - it was all so different from how I remembered. I’ve never felt so alone.”

She trails off and rubs the back of her hand under her nose. When she pulls it away, she sees the smudged black.

“Oh shit. I look a mess!” She shudders, wrapping her arms around herself.

“Let’s go in. I’ll find you some tissues.” The gravel crunches behind him as she follows him up the long drive. They don’t go inside the front door, instead he leads her around the house. Security lights flick on one at a time as they walk, showing the path across the garden and to his studio.

“Is this where you work?” She asks.

“Yes,” he answers. “This is mine.” He holds open the door and beckons for her to go in, before following and sliding the door closed. 

The lights from outside illuminate the studio, tainting everything a bluish hue. He dares not switch on the spotlights, fearing their starkness will reveal too much. It’s better like this, in the half light, where she can’t read his face.

While she throws off her leather jacket and her muddy boots, he fetches a handful of tissues from a shelf. He hands them to her, then steps away, giving her space.

She rubs at her face roughly, scrubbing away the tears and the mess.

“What happened with your parents, Rey?”

“I don’t know.” The strength of the breath she draws in visibly shakes her rib cage. “I remember fragments, snatches. I was 4 or 5. There was the school. And then some people came to take me away. I don’t remember why.” A tear slips down her cheek, but she doesn’t wipe it away. “I could find out. I could read my file. They offered to let me when I was younger, and I could still request the file now. But I’ve never wanted to.”

He holds her gaze.

“Because you know the reason already, don’t you, Rey?”

She nods, and the tears stream down her face now.

“They were drunks.”

“Filthy drunks, Rey. You deserved better than them.”

She nods again.

“You deserve better than me, too, Rey. I’m not a good man.”

“There’s no such thing, Ben. We all have light and dark inside us.”

“Not you.” He rotates his jaw. “You’re all good.”

“Don’t make me out to be something I’m not. I’m no saint.”

His brow furrows.

“Have you ever hurt someone? “

“Yes.”

“Out of spite? Out of rage? Just because you could?” She hesitates, then shakes her head. “Because I have.” His eyes bore into hers. “I’ve screwed up. I won’t bring you down with me.”

“It’s not too late, Ben. I’ll help you.” She steps towards him.

He turns his face away from her and asks through gritted teeth; “What do you want from me, Rey?”

“Can you just?” She steps forward once more, and her voice quivers. “Can you just hold me, please?”

His eyes flick back to her.

“You’re not alone,” he says.

“Neither are you.”

The gap between them closes as she holds out her hand.

Cautiously, he lifts his arm, takes her hand in his, and pulls her towards him. He brings her against his chest and cloaks her in his arms. She’s warm, and her silky hair smells like the wind and her bike. 

He sees the precipice looming before him. He teeters on the edge. He can still save himself - and her. There’s no need to fall.

But then she pulls away. Her hands reach for the hem of her tight t-shirt, and she pulls it over her head, her eyes not leaving his. She’s not wearing a bra and her small, perfect tits bounce as she brings her arms back down, her hair ruffled now.

He thinks he’s stopped breathing. That his heart has stopped beating. He’s frozen, and he can’t move. He just looks at her.

She reaches slowly for the hem of his own T-shirt. Her fingers curl carefully around the material and she tugs it up over his abdomen, his chest, his shoulders, his neck, his head. He doesn’t fight it. His body cooperates despite itself, his arms threading obediently through the arm holes.

And then he’s bare like her. Both their skin translucent in the light; her nipples hard and the colour of peaches. She leans in against him so her chest is plush against his. She winds her arms around his waist and turns her head to rest her right cheek on his collar bone so her head tucks under his chin.

He hesitates for a moment. 

_He feels._

He feels the hard buds of her nipples against his ribs. 

He feels the strands of her hair tickle her chin. 

He feels the softness of her breath sweep across his clavicle.

Warily, he lifts his right hand to cup the back of her head as his left strokes the base of her spine. 

He holds her and she holds him.

They stand holding each other.

Then she breaks away, sighing, and turning her back to him.

She sweeps her gaze over his studio and walks towards the large canvas he has hanging on the wall. It’s one of his early works, full of hate and spite - he can see that now.

Her eyes hover over it for some time, and then she moves away to the table where he keeps all of his brushes. There’s tins and tins holding brushes of different sizes and types of bristles; all arranged neatly. She runs her palm lightly over their heads.

“What was it that woman wanted to do with your brushes, Ben?” She asks as she turns towards him, her hands gripping the edge of the table as she leans back against it and glances up at him through her lashes. Her eyes seem to darken.

He shakes his head and comes to stand before her. He reaches around and picks up a brush, then slides his thumb backwards and forwards over the soft head.

“I’d like to paint you, Rey.” He says earnestly.

She throws her head back and laughs.

“Ben, I bet you say that to all the ladies.”

“You know I don’t.”

“Yes, I know.” She whispers. “But you’ve already sketched me.”

“I don’t mean like that.” He also whispers. “I mean like this.” He rubs the paint brush tenderly along her collar bone and she gasps.

“Red and black?”

“No. Golds and oranges and yellows.” The bristles glide between her breasts, circling each one in turn, and then tickle each of her peeked nipples. “That’s how I see you.”

“You have synesthesia.”

He halts, looks straight into her eyes.

“Yes. I never told anyone before.” Absent minded, he runs the paint brush over his lips, back and forth, and her eyes follow the movement. “They all thought I was mad enough already.” He continues to tease his lips with the brush, his eyes far away as he remembers. “The first time I saw you, you were bathed in this light, like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

When he focuses back on her, there’s an emotion written all over her beautiful face that he hasn’t seen in years. Affection.

And now he’s no longer clinging desperately on, he dives in freely, leaning down to kiss her. The paintbrush falls from his fingers.

He’s never kissed anyone like this before, and he wonders if she can feel it. How much he wants her. How much he needs her.

The taste of her mouth is like sugar, the sweetness hitting his tongue and mingling with the saltiness on her skin. Her supple lips caress his lightly, her tongue creeping into his mouth. She moans and he kisses her harder; as hard as he thinks she can bear it.

“Ben. I’m not leaving without you.” She’s broken away from him, her hands on his chest as if she’s come to claim his heart.

“Ok.” To kiss her again, to keep her in his arms, he would say anything.

Her fingers stroke his bare skin, creeping their way down over his stomach to his belt. She fumbles with the buckle, with the belt, with the zip; her hands struggling to find what they’re searching for.

He pulls away.

“Rey.” Is he shaking? All he can see is her face; calm and sure and unforgiving.

“It’s what we both want, Ben. I can’t wait for you any longer.”

She reaches into his trousers, and the feel of her fingers wrapped around him sends a jolt racing to his spine.

“You know what I want. I told you already,” She fixes him with a look of determination, stroking her hand up and down his hard shaft. “Will you give it to me?”

“Yes.” He says, when what he means to say is: “Yes, I’d give you anything, I’d give you everything.”

He hooks his finger into the loop of her waistband and tugs her towards him as she continues to pump him with a wild hunger. The feeling is overwhelming, his cock dancing in her grasp. The sparks are blossoming across his stomach to his very fingertips. He’s going to lose control before they’ve begun.

“Slow down, Rey.” He growls, his eyes screwed shut.

She answers by dropping her hands and standing on her tiptoes to place a light brush of her lips against his.

He unbuckles her trousers, slipping the tight denim over the swell of her hips, over the curve of her arse and down her long, lean legs. He descends with them, coming to kneel before her, helping her to free each foot. 

She wears turquoise shorts that sit below the juts of her hip bones. The material is silky to the touch, and transparent, and he can see short curls, darker here than on her head.

Her fingers tangle in his hair.

“Ben?” She asks, stirring him from his reverie.

He kisses each hip, and the dip of her belly button. This time his tongue follows as he slips her knickers off. A line of wet saliva trails after his tongue as he licks the inside of her right thigh, knee, calf; then switches to her left leg and climbs back up to flit along her dampened slit, eliciting a shiver that makes the thighs he holds in both hands tremble.

She tastes saltier here, and of the earth. The smell reminds him of digging as a child. 

The memory halts him. 

He rests his forehead against her stomach, breathing hard, staring down at the place where her lips begin, where the colour deepens from a dusky pink to a heavy red. 

As his desire swells, the grip he holds her in hardens, and his fingers dig into the softness of her thighs.

She pulls him up by his hair. Want swamps her eyes; her pupils are blown wide, and her heart is beating visibly beneath the skin of her chest.

He drags off his pants and his briefs; his cock standing stiff between them, reaching for her. Her gaze scours over him, ruffling the hairs on the back of his neck and causing his cock to jerk in anticipation.

They collide in the space between them; moving together as one. Hands skating over skin, nails scraping into flesh, mouths and tongues tangled, breaths desperate.

She’s dragging him, he’s shoving her, back towards the wall until she’s pressed against it and he’s pressed against her, his cock nudging at the entrance to her cunt.

Her head falls backward, elongating her exquisite neck. He nips at it with his teeth as he rubs his head, moist with his leakage, against her hardened nub of nerves. She gasps and moans, writhing in his arms, pulling him as close as she can.

He grips her buttocks and lifts, her hands flying to his shoulders, steadying herself.

He closes his eyes, air escaping his nose and his mouth. 

“Rey?” He asks, his eyes opening and searching out hers.

Damn, this is all he wants, he doesn’t know how he’ll live if she stops him.

But she doesn’t.

“Ben, please,” she pleads, and he plunges in, her damp-coated lips parting to take him. They gasp together as he pushes further, her tender walls clenching around him, engulfing him further as he throbs.

Their foreheads meet, both peering at the point where she swallows him whole. 

“It’s been a long time,” he whimpers. “I don’t know how long I can last-“

But she bucks her hips, and any thought of control obliterates.

He’s frantic, thrusting into her with abandon; grunts and groans and obscenities escaping his lips. He’s transfixed by the bob of her tits, the sharpness of her teeth against his shoulder, the quivers rippling through her cunt. Arching her back to force his pubic bone to rub against her clit; she squirms in his hands

“Harder.” She begs. “Ben, more!”

It tips him over the edge.

The tension builds in his belly, wrapping around his cock and his balls. Then he comes. A shot of electricity lighting through his body, his mind whiting out and his balls, his cock, his whole body, pulsating as he sends his spend soaring into her. 

He’s died. Died in her arms. He’s a ghost. His body as light as air. His mind free.

Gently, he lowers her to her feet and leans to grip the wall. His legs shake, his chest heaves.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. 

A gleam of sweat shines on her skin, her hair damp against her forehead and his come smeared around her opening.

She smiles, wide and happy, and snuggles into him, nuzzling his ear and then his mouth.

“Ben.” It’s all she needs to say. He’s reborn as he engulfs her in his arms. 

But suddenly he stiffens.

There’s the sound of the door slamming open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dah!
> 
> If this is all a bit intense for you, check out some of my other work - it’s much more lighthearted I promise.
> 
> You can find me, and a Textfic I posted last week, on Twitter - I'm ReyloBrit
> 
> (Synesthesia - this a condition where the triggering of one sense causes the simultaneous triggering of another sense. You’ve probably heard about people who see colours when they hear music or associate certain tastes with certain words. I have a form of this (spatial sequence synesthesia) where I have a visual map in my mind of years, weeks and numbers. My Mum has a form where she sees different letters as different colours. I think Ben must have the type where different emotions he is feeling elicit different colours. In canon, force users talk about seeing people’s lightness and darkness, and I wanted to try and represent that in this story.)


	10. Rising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Rey knows who it is. She knows by the way Ben stiffens in her arms. Before she hears the voice, before she turns to see. _
> 
> _Marion Snoke._
> 
> Ben and Rey face Marion after being discovered together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are at the final Chapter - although don't miss the short epilogue that follows.
> 
> Thanks once again to MyJediLife who has been so lovely, encouraging and patient.
> 
> To LeiaMyLabrador who has spoiled me with yet another truly beautiful moodboard - see it below
> 
> And to all of you who have left comments and kudos - especially those who have taken the time to comment regularly. Your comments have been super motivating and I am so grateful <3 <3

Chapter 10 - Rising

Rey knows who it is. She knows by the way Ben stiffens in her arms. Before she hears the voice, before she turns to see. 

Marion Snoke.

Her cheekbones and jawline are angular, her hair styled and her clothes expensive. The woman is taller than Rey had imagined and stunning. 

“Kylo, who’s bike is that in the -”

Marion halts in her tracks, her hand still gripping the door handle. Then she slides into the room, her eyes hissing with menace.

“It’s you!” Marion snarls.

“Yes,” Rey says, holding her gaze and lifting her chin in defiance. Then, as slowly as she can force herself to, not wanting the woman to interpret her actions as shame, she gathers up her briefs, her jeans and her t-shirt and drags them on.

Marion watches in silence, a snarl curling round the edges of her thinning lips.

“So, he’s finally fucked you, has he?” Marion laughs hollowly. “And now he’ll throw you away like all the others, like the piece of trash that you are.”

“It’s not true. There’s been no others.” Ben whispers. He’s not moving. He stares at the floor before him, still naked. 

Rey wonders how she can find him beautiful even now, even in this moment. But he is. The tight, curve of his arse. The hang of his cock. The broadness of his chest and his shoulders. 

Rey’s eyes round on Marion. 

“He’s leaving you.”

Marion takes a menacing step forwards, her face clashing with rage and amusement.

“Do you think you can take him? Take him from me?”

“I’m not taking him. He’s leaving.”

She laughs. “You don’t know him like I do! He’s a selfish, arrogant boy who destroys everyone and everything.” Rey shakes her head as she hears Ben’s breath quicken. “Did he tell you he killed his father?” She spits.

Ben’s face swims with horror and fear as he swings towards Rey.

“Rey!” He pleads.

“Ben - I know. It’s in the past.” Her eyes are calm. “You said to let old things die. And together we can.” 

He nods his head. “I know what I have to do,” he says, his jaw tightening as he turns back to Marion.

Rey bends down to collect up his clothes.

“You pathetic child. You think you can turn him against me. I know him. I know his mind.” She snarls, her lip curling back against her teeth. “He’s weak. And _you_? You think he’d give up all this for _you_!”

“That’s enough, Marion.” Ben states, taking his clothes from Rey. “You can’t talk to her that way.”

Marion snaps her attention to Ben. She throws back her head and snorts out a low laugh.

“I own your ass, Sweetheart. There’s no Kylo Ren without me. You’re mine.” She narrows her eyes, moving closer as he dresses, until she’s right in front of his face and he’s forced to look at her. She jabs at him with the long nail of her forefinger, striking at his chest. “Are you ready to go back to being nothing - the nothing you were? Back to the breadline? To invisibility? To obscurity?”

He doesn’t answer, simply buckles his trousers and turns to Rey.

“Let’s go,” He says.

“You’ll be leaving with nothing!” Marion screams, losing her cool, pushing Ben with all her might. He lets her, his body sagging like a rag doll. “I’m calling my security - you’re not taking a thing! None of it belongs to you.”

“I don’t want any of it.” He cries. Then, closing and opening his eyes, swallowing away the rage, he says in a quieter voice. “I’m sorry Marion. It’s over.” He looks over to Rey. “I should’ve ended it first. I’m sorry it happened this way.” He tells them both.

“Nobody humiliates me like this, Kylo.”

“I know,” he says.

“I gave you _everything_!”

“No, you didn't Marion. Not everything.”

Marion steps back, seeming to sense she’s defeated.

“Go then, you fool.” She tosses her head. “I was tiring of you anyway.” She spins and storms to the door, before she disappears back into the night, she glares round at Rey and hisses. “There’s no receipt, darling. You can’t return him when you’re done.”

....

They hurry into the house so Ben can throw a few belongings into a bag. Then they climb onto Rey’s bike and leave just as Marion’s security arrives at the gate.

Rey winds her way through the dark and empty streets, the world still and sleeping, Ben’s weight pressed against her back and his hands gripping her waist.

Did she know it would go this way when she’d arrived at the house hours earlier? Had she seen their futures, known that when the time came, he’d make his choices and his choices would be her? She can’t remember now. There had just been this urgency to see him, and she’d arrived before she knew she was leaving.

The dawn’s light seeps into the sky and paints over the night’s black with a warming grey, as they finally pull up outside Rey’s flat. She can feel him trembling behind her as they walk along the path, climb the stairs and pause to unlock the door. 

“Where’s the bathroom?” He asks as she leads him inside, switching on a lamp. She points the way and hovers by the door listening to him retch and vomit. Then there’s the sound of the tap and water splashing. The air is cold, and she goes to fiddle with the boiler, turning on the radiators. The flat’s old pipes groan and sing as Ben emerges from the bathroom with a white face and the hair around his forehead wet.

She guides him to her small sofa.

Daylight creeps through the windows, beginning to chase away the dark shadows in the room. Outside the sounds of morning are emerging; a car engine churning to life, the slam of a door, the slap of a pair of footsteps.

“I’ll put the kettle on.” She says gently, stroking his cheek.

“Do you have anything stronger?” He asks. His left leg jiggles and he attempts to tame it with his hands. 

“No, I don’t drink alcohol. There’s none in the flat. I’ll make you some tea.”

When she returns with a mug, he’s hunched over, elbows on knees, face buried in his hands.

She kneels before him and places the drink to one side.

“Ben, do you want some tea and biscuits? There’s nothing so awful that it can’t be solved by a cuppa and a hobnob.”

He runs his hands over his face and looks up at her. He looks exhausted, deep shadows rimming his eyes.

Rey takes his fists in her hands and kisses each of his knuckles as tenderly as she can.

“Tell me,” she beseeches.

But she knows he can’t quite yet. It’s still too raw.

He looks away.

“Oh,” he says.

“What?” She follows his gaze to the laddered shelves leaning against the wall. It’s where she keeps her treasured possessions. There’s interesting shells and pebbles from the beach, a framed photo of her and Finn, a tiny sculpture. On the top shelf stand the little Lego figures; the stormtrooper, his girl, their children and the two drawings he’d gifted her.

She smiles. “I couldn’t bring myself to throw them away, even after we’d fallen out.”

His eyes find hers.

“I’m so sorry, Rey.”

“Don’t be.” She whispers, her lips resting on his hands once more. “You’re here now. You’re ok, Ben. It’s going to be ok.”

He kisses the top of her head and hesitates, tripping over his words:

“Rey, do we need to get you a pill?”

“What?” She asks, confused.

“I didn’t use protection.”

“No Ben - it’s fine.”

He sighs in relief.

“Ok. I can’t.... not now ... not that I wouldn’t want to in the future, I mean. It’s one of the things that changed. This feeling of wanting that. Wanting my own family. Wanting to belong to someone who belonged to me too.”

“Yes, I felt it too. I didn’t know how lonely I’d been until I met you, Ben.” She doesn’t mean to cry, but a tear escapes her eyes anyway.

He leans away from her, as if the intensity of what they’re feeling is too much to bear. His leg trembles again.

“What is it, Ben?”

“I’m screwed, Rey. I don’t know how I’m going to do this.” He won’t meet her eyes, and she can see it’s wounding his pride.

“You weren’t happy though - were you, Ben?”

“No, I wasn’t.” He pauses, staring up at the ceiling. “I’d buried so much inside myself, Rey, and then I met you. You set it all free.” His voice catches in his throat. She reaches for him. Kneeling up, pulling him towards her so their eyes meet. “I never felt this way about someone before,” he says. “This all consuming want to be with you.”

“I think it’s called love.” She teases with a hint of a smile.

His face remains deadly serious. “I think it is. No - I don’t think, I know. I know it’s love. I’ve been gradually falling since the moment I met you.” He traces a finger down her face. “I love you, Rey.”

“I love you too, Ben.” Why do the words sound so silly on her lips? Why do people struggle to say these words when they don’t come close to conveying the depths of what she feels for him? Don’t describe the way her heart sings when he’s near and sinks when he leaves? Don’t show how much she’d longed to have him like she had in his studio? How much she’d wanted to be held in his arms? Just that, to be held, that alone would be enough. She hasn’t been held or loved enough in her lonely life.

“You’re going to stay here with me,” she tells him as she undresses them both. “Together, we’ll be OK.”

“No.” He says, sternly. “I won’t be a burden to you, Rey. I need to find my own way.”

“You will, Ben. But this place - it’s owned by your mother. She’s given me a very kind rate - I’d never be able to afford to live in London otherwise.”

Rey’s removed his jacket, his shirt and his trousers. He sits in his boxers now, frowning, and she begins to remove her own clothes until she’s naked.

“You’re going to fix that, too.” Rey says. “A family: it’s....” She struggles to find the words. 

“Yes. I know. I will.”

Rey stands and looks down at him, magnificent before her. 

The large window behind him is filled with morning light, streaming through the glass, bathing him in gold.

He’s smiling. His face is always the most beautiful that way.

“Take off your pants, Ben,” she says.

“They’re already off,” he says, his grin even wider.

She leans over him and taps him on the nose. “You’ve lived in this country for ten years, Mr. Solo. You know exactly what I mean.”

He laughs and grabs her, pulling her into his lap. She can feel his heart beating against her skin. He wraps himself around her, and for a long moment they listen to the sound of each other’s breath. She trails her fingers over his chest lightly and he closes his eyes. The touch of his skin is soft, and yet beneath there’s a hardness and a strength. It thrills her: the dangerous thought that he could crush her easily in his arms, but instead he cradles her as if her body were delicate, her being precious.

She scrabbles to her feet. He’s so pale, like he’s rarely seen the sun, like he’s spent too long living in the darkness. Here, though, with her, the daylight floods his skin, engulfing him in flames, melting him to bronze. And that hunger overwhelms her again and only he can fill it.

“Take them off Ben, please.” She says softly. He goes to stand, too, and she pushes him back down, a knowing look in her eyes. He lifts his hips and wriggles the boxers down his thighs and lets them fall at his feet.

It was dark before in the studio but now, in the light, they see each other clearly. She doesn’t know where to begin. She wants to love all of him. 

“Shit Rey. You’re so incredible. Every part of you.”

His cock stiffens as his own eyes roam over her body and a dribble of wetness beads at the tip. 

And she decides she’ll start there.

She kneels down on the rug and rests her hands on his thick thighs.

“What?” He asks, trying to gather her up but then her tongue finds his head. “Oh.” He jerks.

He tastes of sea water; salty and strong. She withdraws her tongue and kisses him sweetly as his cock bobs with anticipation. Then she takes him completely in her mouth and she feels his whole body tense as he growls loudly.

She wonders if anyone has ever done this for him. Given him something selflessly. All for himself.

The thought drives her, she takes him as far back in her mouth as she can, and with her hands she strokes his velvet shaft and cups his balls. She teases him, one moment slow and lingering, the next fast and rough. He moans and riles on the chair, his fingers tangling in her hair, fisting in an effort not to take control, not to thrust. 

Then he’s pushing her away, and she fights him.

“Please Rey - stop,” he asks.

She looks up at him. “I want to, Ben. I want to make you come.”

“Not now. I want....” But he doesn’t need to finish, she understands.

She finds her feet again and comes to stand between his knees, as she takes his face in her hands and kisses him. His fingers stroke up and down her spine and she hums contently.

Gradually she manaevours, a knee on the couch, and the other, he’s helping to lift her, and finally she lowers herself onto him. Slowly, so she can savour the feel of him, as he glides inside and hits her sweet spot, igniting sparks that spiral through her core . She stops breathing for a second. Then she opens her eyes, desperate to find his, gazing deep into the chocolate darkness of his irises. 

They thread their fingers through one another’s and languidly she rocks. It’s more halting, less frantic, than the last time. Now they can take their time, devour every moment, every touch, every feel, every pull. He is hers and she is his and together they grind into one another as if they never wish to be parted. Soon she is soaring, her eyes never leaving his, so that they fly together, their movements pushing them to ecstasy, raising them to the heavens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If, like my husband, you were hoping Ben was going to slice Marion in two; I'm sorry it didn't go that way. I didn't want Ben to end up in jail - I wanted them to have their happy ending.
> 
> Don't miss the epilogue - it's short but worth it, I promise.


	11. Epilogue

Epilogue

Ben mends. 

It takes time. These things always do.

He goes with Rey every day to the space where she sculpts, and he paints. He’s not sure if this is what he’ll do now, but it brings him peace in a way it never has done before

And he finds his feet. With Rey’s help, he reconciles with his mother, comes to an understanding with his uncle. Marion brings the full force of her wrath down upon his head. There’s accusations, stories, leaks. He steps away from it all, lets it pass, and in the end his mother’s lawyers manage to wrangle some money for him. It’s not a lot, enough to pay his share of the bills for a few months.

Rey heals, too. Tending to the wounds made long ago that still cause her pain. Together, they go to find her file and she reads it with him. It’s like ripping off a poorly formed scab, but with his love she finally has the strength to do it.

Then it’s Spring again...

“It’s ready.” He tells her. She’s just switched off the soldering iron and is pulling off her mask and gloves. She looks and finds him leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching her with a big smile across his face.

“What, Ben?”

“My painting: it’s finished. Would you like to see?”

Her eyes light up. He’s been working on this piece since Christmas and has refused to show her anything so far.

“Can I please?”

He nods and comes to take her hand. He leads her round to the huge canvas he’s been working on. It’s taller than Rey, and he’s covered it with one of her dust sheets. Positioning her carefully before the painting, he goes to stand by its side and grabs a handful of sheet.

“You don’t have to love or like it. Art is personal. I just need your professional opinion as to whether it’s any good.”

“Ben!” She rolls her eyes.

“Ok, ok. Here goes.” He takes a deep breath in and whips back the sheet, letting it tumble to the floor.

Her eyes hungrily roam over the painting as he comes to stand behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder.

The canvas is smothered in strokes of yellows and oranges and golds, with hints of reds and blacks at the edges. It reminds her of looking at bright sunshine through broken glass.

He knows she’s struggling for the words.

“It’s you.” He whispers. “It’s a painting of you.” He nuzzles into her neck and her fingers find his hands.

“Ben...I... nobody...”

“I love you, Rey. You mean everything to me. Everything.” She twists her head and finds his lips in reply.

“You know I love you too,” She whispers when they break apart.

“Are you crying?”.

She touches her face. “Maybe.”

“Is my painting that bad?” He teases.

She laughs. “You know it’s amazing.” He squeezes her, beaming. “But nobody is going to believe it’s a Kylo Ren.”

“It’s not,” he says, simply. “It’s a Ben Solo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think they're going to be OK, these two broken people, fixing one another. 
> 
> But God I am going to miss them - they've been keeping me company in my head for the last few months. Still, I'm super chuffed to have finished my first multi-chapter fic. I'm working on a couple of others so keep an eye out - I'm ReyloBrit on Twitter and Tumblr.
> 
> And finally, please, if you do have a spare moment; leave me a comment about what you thought of this story. It's only with feedback that us writers improve and improving my writing is partly why I'm here (and because it's fun obviously!). So tell me what you liked, hated, thought I did well or could do better next time.   
Thank you,  
ReyloBrit xx


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